


Fic Extras

by frankiesin



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Drabble Collection, I Hit 1 Million Words And This Is What I'm Doing, Multi, enjoy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-05
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 15:19:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 26,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frankiesin/pseuds/frankiesin
Summary: I'm not leaving bandom. But, I've been here for a little over 2 years and a few days ago, I hit over 1 million words on this ao3 account. That's a lot. So, to celebrate, please take all the fics and snippets that didn't make it into that 1 million. Here they are, in all their unfinished glory.(Apologies for having so many ships; I cannot be contained)





	1. We'll See You In Cape Town (original)

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm seperating these dudes by chapter so I can make notes if needed. This first one is what We'll See You In Cape Town was originally going to start with. No spoilers, since I've already passed 2007 in the actual WSYICT. 
> 
> Enjoy!

**May 7, 2007; Summerlin, Nevada.**

 

Apartment shopping was hard. Money wasn't an issue, thankfully, but Spencer's partners weren't interested in anything he sent them. It was because all of the apartments were still in Las Vegas, and Brendon and Dallon were hoping to get out of Las Vegas as soon as possible, but Spencer wasn't sure where he wanted to move. Rochelle and Jon were in Chicago, as was Linda, but Pete and most of Spencer's music friends were in LA or scattered across the country.

 

Spencer just wanted to get out of his parents house. He was an adult now, for real, and not just numerically, and it was _weird_ living in the same space as them.

 

Also, Brendon and Dallon were living there too, since Spencer's parents had turned the two rooms in the basement into an apartment now that their kids were starting to leave the house. Crystal and Jackie were still in high school, but they were a lot more involved with extracurriculars than Spencer had ever been. Spencer's parents were the same though, always willing to let Spencer's friends stay over for as long as they needed.

 

“When's the last time you left the house?” Dallon asked from the doorway.

 

Spencer rubbed his face. He'd been unsuccessfully trying to grow a beard, but it wasn't working well and Spencer wasn't sure if it was the trans thing or a genetic issue. “I don't know. I just… I have to figure this out, you know?”

 

Dallon rolled their eyes. “Spence, Brendon and I are fine here with your parents. They're nice people, and I know you want to live on your own, but what's the point in settling somewhere when we don't know where we're going to be in a year?”

 

“You've been talking to Rochelle about the album,” Spencer said. It wasn't a question. After the months they'd spent locked up in a cabin, failing to write a follow-up to their first album, they'd decided to take a mental break. That had lasted for about a week before Dallon started texting Rochelle ideas and Rochelle started calling Spencer at five in the morning because she still didn't understand time zones or that Spencer had an active sex life that usually occurred _at night_.

 

“Yeah, she and Jon have a bunch of ideas,” Dallon said. They came over and sat down beside Spencer on the bed. “I know you're not sold on LA, but…”

 

“It's better than living with my mom and dad for the rest of my life,” Spencer said.


	2. Ghost Towns (excerpt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was something I wrote for class this semester. Yes. I still write fic for class assignments and change the names. That's just who I am as a person. 
> 
> It's from Ghost Towns, and it would take place some time before Linda and Jon meet the other four.

It was a bumpy ride for a Benz. Jon missed the old car, which had been smooth despite being older than both his parents combined. Linda had the windows rolled down and her freshly dyed ginger hair was blowing out into the desert breeze. It was hot, not humid, and the sun was burning in through Jon’s window onto his thighs. He knew that rolling down the window wouldn’t change that, so he sucked it up and thought about shorts.

 

He reached over and fiddled with the radio, trying to get something other than static. Linda didn’t mind driving in silence, with only the steady hum of asphalt under tires to keep her together. Jon was different; he liked noise to fill in the gaps in conversation, and they’d been on the road for a while. The herbs in the back seat were starting to waft to the front, and Jon was able to pick out the rosemary from the cloves now. He’d been working with magic for over half his life, and the smells and feelings of the ingredients were as familiar as the freckles on the back of his hand.

 

The desert was long. Jon pressed his forehead against the warm window as Bowie came through the radio, and he thought about coffee. He didn’t bring it up, because there was no sign of an exit and he knew better than to think something into reality. The mind was incredible when it was tired. If Jon talked about coffee, he and Linda would smell the coffee, and taste it, and then they’d be backtracking to the last exit to get some cheap shit out of a gas station just to make the phantom bitterness on their tongues subside.

 

Jon’s mouth tasted like mint gum and saliva, because he’d been working his way through the pack to get the coffee taste from the morning out of his mouth. Coffee was good, but it wasn’t something he wanted to live off of. That was dangerous.


	3. Okay, First Of All... (Joetrick)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be the Joetrick story for the Marching Band AU (oh my God, that AU is so weird to read now that I've been writing for bandom for years). Obviously, it never happened, because nohic became the new and improved MBAU, but I still love Joetrick and their little origin story.

It was the summer before eighth grade and Pete was forcing Patrick to hang out with him at the local bookstore. Patrick was bored, and tired, and not at all interested in the girl behind the counter. Pete had a crush on her, apparently, even though she was in high school and probably thought that Patrick and Pete were in elementary school. Pete was trying anyway, because Pete was kind of an idiot but Patrick loved him anyway. In a bro kind of way. Pete was very much not into guys, and Patrick was still trying to figure out who he thought was attractive.

 

The two boys were currently sitting at a small table in the cafe area, with coffees in their hands. Pete was trying to drink his, and making a disgusted face after every sip. Patrick wasn’t even bothering. After the first sip, he had decided that the coffee was bitter and disgusting and Pete would have to pay him to drink it.

 

Patrick wished Andy was with them, because then he and Andy could be laughing at Pete’s shitty attempts of seduction together. Instead, Patrick was alone with Pete and third-wheeling even though there wasn’t anyone to third-wheel with. It was incredible. It was incredibly boring. Patrick pushed his coffee cup away from him and let out a sigh. “I’m gonna go look at the music, or something. Have fun trying to get her attention.”

 

“Trick, no, don’t leave me!” Pete lurched forward, almost spilling their coffees, and grabbed Patrick’s arm. Patrick started shaking his arm, but Pete was on the school’s soccer team and actually worked out, so Patrick ended up just shaking their arms in a really weird looking attempt at the worm. Patrick stared at his hands and regretted his decision to come with Pete. He frowned. “Let go, dude. I’m not interested in her. I’m interested in music.”

 

“You and Andy are so weird when it comes to girls.” Pete said. He let go of Patrick’s hand. “If either of you end up being gay, I promise to be a good straight friend and run over all the homophobes.”

 

“Please do not run over any homophobes.” Patrick said, adjusting his hat and ignoring how an older lady was glaring at him from the corner. “It’s illegal.”

 

“We do illegal things all the time.” Pete said. Patrick rolled his eyes. “No, Pete, we do _stupid_ things all the time. Some of it might be illegal, but we don’t get people killed.”

 

Pete let out a huff and fell back in his chair. “Ugh, fine. Fuck you, Patrick. Go shove some records up your ass or whatever it is you do while I’m getting some.”

 

“Trying to get some.” Patrick corrected his friend. “So far she’s only looked at you twice.”

 

“Maybe I should move closer.”

 

“Maybe you should admit defeat and try for someone our age.” Patrick suggested. Pete grinned and shook his head. “Nah.”

 

Patrick shook his head and left Pete to do whatever it was he thought he was going to do just sitting there and not drinking coffee. Patrick headed over to the back of the store, where they kept all the music, and started just wandering around. He didn’t have any money because he had spent all of his allowance on coffees he didn’t drink, so he couldn’t actually buy anything. That was unfortunate, or perhaps it was for the better.

 

Most people thought that Pete was the impulsive one, but most people had never seen Patrick when he had a twenty dollar bill and was allowed in a music shop. Andy had had to physically hold him back from trying to get a few albums before.


	4. Untitled Petekey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in the Spring of 2016, and I'd planned to turn it into an original short story and publish it. I might still do that, but I don't know. I'm focused on some other things at the moment. 
> 
> There's a bit of background for this: Pete's a stealth trans guy who's just moved to Mikey's school. Mikey's head of the GSA and their sister (Gee) is in college. Gee's friends have gotten into some trouble because they stood up for her when she was attacked for being trans. Mikey finds out, and decides that they're going to go directly to Gee and help her. They drag Pete along so that they don't have to drive all the way to their sister alone.

The car is stuffy and it smells like cigarettes, which doesn't make sense because I know that Mikey doesn't smoke. Their mom does, but this isn't their mom’s car. This is their car, and I'm in the passenger seat wondering if it would be too rude to roll the window down just so I could breath. I hadn't bothered to put on anything other than an Old Navy hoodie, because chances are that we won't get to New York until tomorrow, and Mikey’s going to stop driving eventually.

 

I hope they stop driving soon. It's almost two in the morning and we've been on the road since eight. Mikey hasn't said much, but they were nice enough to put on some music so at least this impromptu road trip hasn't been six hours of awkward silence. That would be horrible. I probably would have started rambling, just to fill the silence, and I would probably say something dumb, like “I think I'm a little bit in love with you and your confidence” or “man I wish I could tell people I'm trans and just go with it, but I don't wanna be that trans kid again and I'm scared.”

 

I haven't said any of that yet, but I am talking occasionally. It's usually about the music. Gabe is a pretty cool person, but they have the weirdest taste in music ever.

 

“Hey, Pete, pull out your phone and find the cheapest motel. I'm gonna pass out if I have to drive much longer.” Mikey says, the first thing they've said in hours. It startles me, because their voice is never what I'm expecting, even though I've heard it a thousand times before at school.

 

I nod and do as I'm told. I tell Mikey that there's a Motel Six about three exits away, conveniently located near a gas station and a 24-7 shop. Mikey nods, thanks me, and shifts over to the right most lane in traditional Atlanta driver fashion. I'm proud of myself, because I don't grab at the door or slam my feet into the floor like I can work the breaks from this side of the car. Mikey’s not a shitty driver, they just learned how to drive from their mother, who's from DC and has taken the highways of downtown Atlanta by storm. I'm pretty sure that she got featured on the local news for how intense her driving was once. Her kids inherited her driving patterns, and I've almost died while in a car with Mikey before.

 

Part of me is still trying to figure out how I ended up here, but it's really not that complicated. Mikey’s older sister is at SVU as a freshman, and apparently one of her friends got in trouble for beating up some scumbags who were harassing her. Somehow the police got involved, and Gee (the sister's) whole friend group got arrested. Gee called Mikey instead of their mom, which I totally get, and Mikey decided that the only reasonable response was to drive all the way to New York to get their sister out.

 

I got drafted in because Mikey was afraid to go up alone and I had a lot of Christmas money laying around. I had intended to use it to buy myself a bass guitar (for no other reason than I think that bass lines sound fucking sick), but when a cute person asks you if you've got money to help them get to New York and bail their sister out of jail, who am I to say no?

 

So, now I'm in a car with Mikey, who's only kind of my friend, and we're pulling into what must be the sketchiest looking motel in the entire state of Virginia. I've been to Detroit and all the not safe parts of Chicago, so I'm pretty sure I know what sketchy looks like. And this place qualifies.

 

But, Mikey’s parking the car and unloading their small little duffle bag from the trunk, so I can't stay in the car. It's too cold to stay in the car anyway, even for former Northerner standards.

 

I grab my bag as well and just trail after Mikey until they get us a room. It's got only one bed. Mikey and I look at each other for about five seconds before we both decide that we are far too tired to care. I don't even bother to change out of my jeans or brush my teeth. I just remove my hoodie and let it fall to the floor and then fall onto the bed, shoes and all. Mikey lets out a snort. I lift my head from where I had buried it into a flat, slightly greasy pillow. “What?”

 

“Dude, at least take your shoes off. I don't want you to kick me in your sleep.” They say, bending over to undo the laces of their Converse. The converse are grey and I'm pretty sure that they're being held together by duct tape and Mikey’s force of will alone. It's pretty impressive. Mikey gets them off, as well as their socks, and then joins me in the bed. They kick at my ankle with their toes. “I'm serious. If you kick me with those shoes I'll cut off your feet.”

 

I jerk my feet away from them instinctively. I get enough foot injuries playing soccer, I don't need Mikey adding to them.

 

Mikey glares at me from behind their white rimmed glasses, which are crooked because of how their face is pressed against the pillow. They kick me again with their bare foot. “Take off your shoes, Pete.”

 

“Yeah, shoes. Got it.” I say, and sit up. I take them off, letting them sail across the room and hit the wall. I then lay back down and Mikey hits the lights without so much as a “good night” to me. I wasn't expecting it, since they're kinda awkward when not at a party, but I have a crush on them and therefore my expectations are all in fantasy land. Luckily, I won't have to worry about any awkward morning boner situations, because I don't have anything to boner with. I'm a small, dickless little dude, and I'm probably going to need a shower at some point.

 

I'm not going to shower at this place, even though the pillows are nasty. If the pillows are nasty, then the shower is probably worse and I didn’t bring any shower shoes. I didn’t think much about this trip, I just grabbed some clothes, a toothbrush and a comb, and hoped to whoever was watching that Mikey remembered their own straighteners.

 

It's ironic that we both use straighteners on our hair, even though neither of us are straight. I let out a snort, and Mikey knees me in the ass. “Go to sleep, dude. Seriously.”

 

“Sorry.” I whisper back, and then close my eyes. I'm asleep within seconds, and I don't really dream. I'm too fucking tired to come up with weird dreams, and Gabe waking me up at six doesn't help either. I'm still proud of myself for sleeping through the whole night, though. I haven't done that since me and Mom moved down from Chicago. I guess I just needed a spontaneous road trip to New York to cure me of my insomnia.

 

Mikey is still pulling at my ankle. “Come on, this place charges by the hour and I don't have enough money for us to stay here any longer.”

 

“Just check us out and then come get me.” I wave my hand at them, my face still against the pillow like I can block out the morning sunlight with it or something. “I'm tired.”

 

“They're gonna take the key, dude. Get up.” Mikey says. They don't give me a choice, because they stand up and grab my ankles with both hands before pulling as hard as they can to get me off the bed. Because I'm small (but muscular, thanks soccer), Mikey shouldn't have too much of a problem. However, Mikey is the human equivalent of an uncooked piece of spaghetti so they don't grab me very far before I sit up and peel their hands off my feet. “I'm up, I'm up. Chill.”

 

“Finally. I feel bad for your mom if she has to wake you up every morning.” Mikey says. There's a little smile on their face, though, which is more expression than they usually show. I'll take it. I'll take anything from them, honestly, because I'm a little desperate and I'm willing to admit that I'm desperate.

 

We pack up everything we took out last night, including phone chargers and Mikey’s straightener, which they did bring but I can't use because we need to leave soon. I look at it sadly as Mikey stuffs it into their bag, and Mikey notices me staring. They blink a few times and shove their glasses back up their nose. I have no idea what that's supposed to mean. They ask, “you straighten your hair?”

 

“Yeah. I'm half Jamaican. I look dumb with curly hair.” I say. It's not true. I don't look dumb with curly hair, I just look more feminine. When my hair’s natural, it doesn't frame my face and it makes my lack of jawline and sharp features more obvious. My mom looks great with her natural hair. She looks like a tiny, Jamaican goddess with natural hair.

 

Mikey’s eyes move up to my hair, and I resist the urge to cover my head. They wrinkle their nose, fixing their glasses again. “I think it looks fine. Natural hair’s cool. It’s a lot cooler than mine, at least.”

 

“Thanks?” I wasn’t sure what they meant by that, but they gave me a small “you’re welcome” in response before zipping up their bag and standing up. The two of us leave the motel room and it’s sticky pillows behind, and head to the little office. There’s an older lady behind the desk, white and with thinning grey hair that poofs out around her head like a pathetic storm cloud. She shakes her head as she takes the two of us in, but extends her hand for the key regardless. As Mikey hands it over and tells her our room number, she frowns and said, “Well, I hope you and your girlfriend enjoyed your little romp. Good luck getting her back before her daddy wakes up. If he’s the black one, he’ll wreck you, boy.”

 

Mikey jerks back like they’ve been smacked. I’m not sure if it’s because of the misgendering or the blatant racism, but whatever it is, they’re now pissed off. Mikey’s expression doesn’t really change, but their mouth gets thinner and their eyes somehow manage to darken.

 

I can’t do that. My eyes are already close to black.

 

Mikey’s hand tightens on their bag, and I can see the tendons in their hand flex (DMAB hands are the best thing in the world; I wasn’t living until I discovered DMAB hands). They step back from the counter, something shifts in their posture, and then they step back up so that their flat chest is against the peeling fake wood. They place their hands on either side of them, long ass fingers splayed out like spider legs. “He’s not my girlfriend, because he’s not a fucking girl. And I’ve never met his dad, but his mom’s black and she’s the nicest woman I’ve ever met. So why don’t you check your privilege, and keep your mouth shut, okay?”

 

The woman behind the counter turns an impressive shade of red before Mikey drags me out of the office and across the parking lot. They pause and lean against the side of their car for a minute. I stand there, not sure if they’re crying or having a panic attack or what. I’ve never heard them say so much at once. Mikey’s actual voice is like a revelation or something. I wasn’t expecting it.

 

I stuff my hands in the pocket of my hoodie. “Do I need to drive?”

 

“I haven’t done anything like that since Gee was in high school.” Mikey says, more to the car than to me. They look like they’re in shock, at least from this angle, so I slowly reach out to put my hand on their shoulder. My mom always told me that grounding someone when they’re panicking is a good idea. I’m hoping she’s right, because Mikey’s turning their head and looking at me with tired, panicked eyes and I’m realising that I’ve got to calm them down. I have no idea how to calm them down. I’m not sure if I even know how to calm myself down.

 

“That was… brave?” I try, because I’m pretty sure that’s a good response. I’m just now comprehending what that woman said, and I’m holding off my own panic. She called me Mikey’s girlfriend. I know I’m not the most masculine guy in the world, but am I really so bad at passing that there are people who take one look at me and assume female? Even though I know that Mikey’s agender and their sister is a demigirl, the irrational side of me has already decided that they won’t be my friend if they find out that I’m trans.

 

“That wasn’t brave, I just get really pissed off by stuff like that.” Mikey says. They remove themself from the side of the car and turn their whole body to look at me. I have to tilt my head back, because, surprise, Mikey’s a good five inches taller than me. They tug at the ends of their hair. “Gee was really into all the social justice equality stuff, and she taught me about it because she didn’t want me to turn into an asshole.”

 

“I think she was pretty successful.” I say, and I’m pretty sure that if Mikey was a cis girl and I a cis white guy, this would be the point in our dumb white romance movie where Mikey leaned forward and kissed me. I don’t know. Maybe I watched too many boring romance movies as a kid. Maybe I’m just getting hopeful. There are a lot of rumours at school that Mikey’s aroace, so the chances of them being interested in me are negative at this point. I’m still hoping, though, because I’m a little bit of an idiot.

 

Mikey offers me the tiniest of smiles, but on them it’s like a full-on grin. “Thanks.”

 

“Any time.” I shrug, trying to act like this isn’t a big deal, because it isn’t. Not for them. People probably complement them all the time, and they don’t think anything of it. Their sister was high school famous for being incredibly proud of her identity, and Mikey’s following Gee’s footsteps. They’re used to adoring fans (which I guess I am), and so my comment doesn’t mean shit.

 

We get in the car and, after going through a Starbucks drive thru and getting bagels and coffee, head back to the highway. The car’s still stifling and smelling of too many cigarettes, but the music is good and fills the silence. For the most part. I can’t stop thinking about that woman and all the things she said, and I’m trying to figure out if I should come out to Mikey or not. They already know that I’m bi above the waist (which apparently translates into “biromantic,” but whatever), and they’re vice president of the school’s GSA. They probably won’t be an asshole about it. They might make me march around and proclaim my trans status, which I want nothing to do with. My gender identity shouldn’t be such a big deal. I just want to be a guy. I don’t want to be a trans guy, or a mixed guy, or a bi guy. I don’t want my face to have a bunch of labels tacked on to it.

 

I lean my head against the headrest and make a noise of discontent. I get an eyebrow raise in response. I bump my knee against the interior of the car. “I hate labels sometimes.”

 

Mikey makes a noise of agreement and nods their head, but they don’t look away from the road. I guess that’s for the best. I don’t want them to crash the car. “They make me feel like I’m being introduced to the world before I can actually introduce myself, so I just try not to have any, you know?”

 

“I guess.” Mikey says. Their jaw clenches. They have a really nice jawline. They probably cut the meat and cheese for their sandwiches with their jawline. “People assume that just because I’m ace, I’m also aro and not interested in a relationship at all.”

 

“Wait, you’re not?” I ask. I do not lean forward and I do not make a big deal about this. I am a supportive person and I am not going to abuse Mikey’s vulnerability right now.

 

They look away from me to change lanes. “No, I’ve just got really bad social anxiety when it comes to having a crush on someone. Also, pretty much no one in high school would want to date an asexual. Everyone wants to go fuck each other, and I want the opposite of that. I don’t even want to see other people naked; it’s too weird.”

 

“I’d date an asexual… I’m kind of asexual.” I say.

 

Mikey looks over then, a quick glance away from the highway to make sure I’m not fucking with them. I’m not; ever since I figured out the mess that is my gender, sex hasn’t been as appealing. I was good at it, before I came out as trans, but now I don’t think I’d want to go down on a girl if she would have to go down on me as well. Vaginas fucking suck. I don’t want anyone to know about mine, and I don’t really want it to get involved in anything I do. I can’t tell Mikey that without coming out, and I don’t know if I want to come out right now. This is their moment, not mine. It would be rude to try and out do them.

 

So I just tuck my hands under my legs to keep them from moving around everywhere, and say, “I used to have sex, like, a lot of sex, back in Chicago, but it wasn’t super great, you know? Everyone talked about how great and amazing and life changing sex is, but I just… never felt that way. I was always a little uncomfortable with girls seeing me naked.”

 

“You only had sex with girls.” Mikey phrases that somewhere between a question and a statement.

 

I respond to it anyway. “Yeah, I always thought dicks were fucking weird. I never wanted to put one in my mouth, let alone touch one.”

 

Mikey sputters out a laugh, like they weren’t expecting my response to be funny. I start laughing, too, except my laugh is really loud and obnoxious and just the sound of it makes Mikey actually laugh, and then we’re both laughing really hard. My sides start to hurt, which is partially because I wore my binder last night (whoops) and haven’t taken it off since (also whoops). I didn’t bring anything else except a sports bra, though, and I don’t know how to tell Mikey that we need to pull over so that I can free my boobs and then re-restrain them. Mikey doesn’t know I have boobs.

 

That thought shuts me up, and I sink back into the passenger seat. I turn up the music and hope that that covers my sudden mood change. It doesn’t, because Mikey’s hyper observant sometimes, and I can see them scratching at the leather of the steering wheel with their thumbnail. They’re also flicking their tongue over their lower lip, and their eyebrows are all pressed together. They know something’s up with me. They’re just trying to figure out if they want to ask me or not. They did the same thing when they found out about their sister and were trying to decide if they wanted to bring me or someone else.

 

Maybe I should tell them the truth. If I tell them, then someone else besides my mom will know. Someone at school, who’s kind of a friend, will know why I never go to the bathroom unless it’s in the middle of class, or why I always get “sick” each month and have to stay home from school.

 

I don’t have social anxiety, unlike Mikey. I made friends with the entire soccer team over the summer, even though most of them are homophobic assholes who would kick me off if they knew I was trans. I made friends with Patrick and Joe and Andy because we were all in GSA and chorus together. I fit in. I belong (or can at least make it seem like I belong). I shouldn’t be nervous about this, but I am, and I’m feeling a little nauseous.

 

I swallow, just in case, because if I open my mouth I really don’t want to puke inside Mikey’s car. I sit up and turn myself towards them. “Mikey.”

 

“Yeah?” They say. I open my mouth like I’m a stupid little fish and I can’t fucking speak. This is ridiculous. I’m ready to come out, and I want to come out, and yet… once again, my body is a small piece of shit that doesn’t want to cooperate. I slump back down in my seat. “Nevermind. It wasn’t that important.”

 

“Okay.” Mikey nods, and I hate them a little bit for being considerate of my feelings. I want them to pester me about it. I might get frustrated and spit out the truth that way. But no, Mikey is a good person and listens to what other people tell them. They’re also still licking at their lower lip. Maybe they’re thinking about something as well.

 

I’m not a good person who respects boundaries, so I reach out and gently poke Mikey’s arm. “You okay up there? I don’t want you to crash the car. That would fucking suck.”

 

They do the fishy mouth thing. At least I’m not the only one with a malfunctioning body. I watch their Adam’s apple bob up and down their neck as they swallow, and then they switch lanes again. They nod, “I’m okay. I’m just thinking.”

 

“You’re allowed.” I’m not sure how else to respond to that.

 

They shift their grip on the wheel, and for a moment I think that they’re going to do something dumb and impulsive and we’re going to end up upside down in a ditch. That doesn’t happen. They just shift their grip.

 

It feels like something is going to happen, though. There’s too much fucking tension in this car, and this time I know it’s not all in my head.

 

“Pete.” They say my name like they’re being choked and I’m the one pressing down on their neck. “Pete, I like you.”

 

I metaphorically let go of their neck and metaphorically grab my own. There’s a lot of choking going on in this car. “What? You can’t like me! I’m trans!”

 

And, there it is, out in the open and not as planned, but hey. If me and Mikey are trading confessions, I might as well go all in on my round. I’m not sure if that’s the right poker reference, though, but it sounds right so I’m sticking to it. I’m also shaking, because of nerves, and Mikey’s put their blinker on and is getting us off the highway because they’ve realised that a highway is not the best place for deep, revealing conversations.

 

I bite down on my bottom lip just to make sure I shut the fuck up and just stare out the front window as Mikey pulls off into the first parking lot they find. They turn the car off, unbuckle, and turn towards me. As usual, they look calm and a little bored, but their hazel eyes are wider than usual behind their girly, white-rimmed glasses. Mikey’s staring at me like they don’t know where to start, or maybe I’m just hoping that they don’t know where to start, and it’s not something worse.

 

I start for them, because I don’t like this kind of silence. “I’m trans, Mikey. Under all these clothes, I’ve got a really tight binder and a pair of boobs.”

 

“I’m trans too.” They say slowly. “My sister’s trans. I’m okay with it.”

 

“Then why’d you pull off?” I ask.

 

They roll their eyes. “Because of what you said before that, that you being trans means I can’t like you.”

 

“Oh.” Now I’m the one staring.

 

“It’s bullshit, Pete.” They say in a tone similar to the one they took with the motel lady. It’s not as harsh, though, but there’s anger and frustration and all the shit that motivates people to change the world in their voice, so I know that they mean it. “Your gender identity doesn’t mean you can’t be liked, or loved or whatever. Sure, it’s harder, but fuck the people who don’t care enough to stick around. They’re not important, and I can slash their tires or something if you want me to.”

 

I laughed. The idea of Mikey sneaking around in the dead of night, slashing transphobic peoples’ tires was just really fucking funny. I shook my head. “You don’t need to do that… not without me.”

 

Mikey made a face.

 

I smiled. “What, can’t a guy want a little revenge?”

 

Mikey dropped their head into the hand not on the steering wheel. “Fucking Christ.”

 

“Oh come on, I’m endearing and you know it.” I said. They peered up at me through their hand, and I could see that one of their eyebrows was arched up. I just continued smiling and acting like I wasn’t being a little shit. I’d had a lot of practice with my mom, so I knew what I was doing.


	5. I'd Be A Punk If My Mom Would Let Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't remember when I wrote this one, but it's the original Bass Fucker's Club. (I took a lot of my old, failed ideas and threw them into nohic, in case you can't tell). 
> 
> It was going to have Brallon, Petekey, and Gerz, I believe.

Dallon stares at the room number, and then through the small window into the classroom. It’s the right room according to the flier he found earlier, but there are only three people in there and they all look kind of weird. He’s getting used to people at college looking weird, because not everyone came from his hometown and not everyone dresses nice every day. These three people, however, look especially weird. The girl had jet black hair pulled into two pigtails and was wearing a plaid shirt for a dress and a pair of knee high heeled boots. She looked like the kind of girl that Dallon’s mom would snub her nose at and call a whore of Satan or something. The two boys looked like they had time traveled from the most emo depths of 2005, and the taller one was slouched deep into his chair, glasses on the tip of his nose and a grey beanie covering the top of his head.

 

The third boy, the one who kind of resembled a raccoon from how much eyeliner he was wearing, looked up at the door and made eye contact with Dallon. He grinned and waved, and Dallon knew that he couldn’t just sneak back off to his apartment again. Dallon waved back and then opened the door, letting himself in. He kept his other hand in his pocket. “Is this the bass players’ club?”

 

“Yep!” Eyeliner said. He was the only one not sitting in an actual chair. He jumped up off of the desk he was sitting on and strode over to Dallon, and Dallon noticed just how short the guy was. Dallon was tall, really tall, so he didn’t notice when people were shorter than him until they were significantly shorter than him. This guy was craning his neck to look up at Dallon. He extended his hand. “I’m Pete Wentz. I started this club.”

 

“I’m Dallon. I play bass.” Dallon said, shaking Pete’s hand. He had played bass for his youth group’s praise band, and he’d written a few songs on his own, but his parents weren’t a fan of non-church music and so Dallon had had to learn the bass in a Christian manner. Which basically meant that he played what he wanted in secret but told his parents it was all for Jesus.

 

Pete nodded and let go of Dallon’s hand. “Good. That’s kind of the only requirement. Uh, no one except Mikey actually brought their bass today, but that’s okay because I wasn’t planning on doing any actual bass playing. Grab a chair, we can just introduce each other and do bonding shit.”

 

“Okay, sure.” Dallon said. He was beginning to think that this Pete guy had never led any kind of group before, which made him wonder why Pete had made the club in the first place. Dallon grabbed a chair anyway, and sat down next to the guy in the beanie, who he figured was Mikey since the girl didn’t look like a Mikey. Mikey didn’t look up when Dallon sat down, but the girl was watching him, her chin in her hands and her face tilted a little. Dallon looked back at her, wondering if he had maybe seen her before and that was why she was watching him.

 

Pete nudged one of Mikey’s long legs with his foot. “Mikey, put your phone away, be social.”

 

Mikey placed his phone on the desk in front of him and leaned back in his chair, slouching even more. The girl crossed her legs. “I’ll go first. I’m Lindsey, I’m a senior and an art major, chances are I’m going to be living in a shitty apartment for the next ten years of my life because art is a lot harder than I thought it would be.”


	6. She's the Hot Topic of the Season

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a fic I wrote with Mac aka poisonmockingbird aka spacemomorgana on tumblr. We really just wanted a fun mall AU with Ashley/Lynn because no one wrote for that. 
> 
> There are also some notes from the Google Doc we were writing in, which I've added in at the end because I think they're funny.

The first time Ashley saw her, she tripped over nothing and dropped all of the shirts she’d been carrying. It wasn’t Ashley’s fault, really. She hadn’t been expecting to see a really pretty girl standing behind the Yankee Candle counter, and she really hadn’t expected the girl to have a fucking undercut.

 

“How gay is that?” Ashley whispered to Josh later, when there were only two kids in the store, and they were in the back corner, looking at some of the BBC merch.

 

Josh shook his head. “Just because someone has an undercut doesn’t mean they’re gay.”

 

“I have an undercut,” Ashley said, running her hand through her recently cut hair. She pointed at Josh, who had just dyed his fluff bright red. “You have an undercut. It’s a gay thing. Also, she’s wearing flannel. That’s literally the most gay fabric ever. Josh, I’m serious, she’s gay.”

 

“You know there’s only one way to find out for sure, right?” Josh asked. “You have to become her friend somehow, and then get the gay.”

 

“Get the gay?” Ashley asked. She couldn’t tell if that was an innuendo or not. Josh was hard to decipher, sometimes. “Do you mean, like, on a date or something else?”

 

“Interpret it how you want,” Josh said, and then turned to check out the two kids, who had selected a TARDIS beanie and something else that was blue and probably related to Doctor Who. Ashley didn’t know shit about that show, because she didn’t watch it. Her and Josh’s manager, a bouncy guy named Brendon, did.

 

Brendon was a interesting guy. He didn’t have unnaturally coloured hair, or dress like it was 2007. According to some of the people who’d been working at the mall since forever, he once used to wear a bunch of eyeliner and have the iconic emo fringe, but Ashley and Josh had never seen it on him before. Now, he dressed like the cute guy you would see sitting in the front row in a lecture class, including the thick-rimmed black glasses and too-long sweater sleeves.

 

Brendon also had a husband, who was the one who got him into Doctor Who, and Ashley was pretty sure (even though she didn’t have any concrete proof) that Brendon’s husband was Ryan, the manager at the Yankee Candle.

 

Ashley gasped, and turned around to pull at Josh’s sleeve. “I have an idea.”

 

“I’m not helping you,” Josh said.

 

Ashley rolled her eyes. “It doesn’t involve you, asshole. I’m gonna collab with the Yankee Candle girl to find the proof that Brendon and Ryan are married and that I’m not being a conspiracy loving fuck.”

 

“You are, though.”

 

“Yes, but the Yankee Candle girl doesn’t need to know that,” Ashley said. “I’ll just frame it like I’m some kind of cool investigator and I’m looking to solve the mystery. I’m not going to out Brendon and Ryan, I’m just looking for the proof for personal reasons. I just want to settle my own curiousity, you know? Nothing weird.”

 

“I like that you’re trying to convince me even though you’ve made me cover for you so you could sneak into the back office to try and find a picture of Brendon and Ryan together,” Josh said. Ashley hated that he was right. She figured it was fair, though, because she’d covered for him multiple times so that he could go over and bother one or both of his boyfriends while they were working at Lush.

 

Sometimes it felt like the entire mall was interconnected, but really it was just a result of everyone working in the same store for a long time and getting to know everyone during the closing shifts. There were a bunch of relationships going on behind the scenes, but none of the customers seemed to realise it. They probably weren’t paying much attention to the staff; customers were ignorant like that.

 

Brendon appeared from the back office a little after one, and told Ashley and Josh that they could flip for who got the first lunch break. Ashley called it first, but she promised to bring Josh something back from the food court because she was a nice person. She was pretty sure Josh saw through her plan, and knew that Ashley was using first break as an excuse to go introduce herself to the Yankee Candle girl.

 

Ashley slipped into the back office and checked her hair out in the mirror, fluffing it up from where it had been messed up from hours of moving around. She took off her badge and clocked out, then headed back to the store and ruffled Josh’s hair on her way out. “You boys have fun while I’m gone.”

 

“We definitely will,” Brendon said with an eyebrow wiggle at Josh. Josh made the fish mouth face, because he still wasn’t used to Brendon’s personality. Brendon was just a flirty guy, even though he had a husband and at least two dogs, possibly a kid. Ashley hadn’t figured that much out yet.

 

She headed to the food court to grab something to eat. She ended up with a giant pretzel from Auntie Anne’s and a lemonade, and then she meandered back to the Yankee Candle. The girl from earlier was still there. She was messing with the new holiday candles (it was the beginning of Holiday Hell Season, and everything in the store smelled like pumpkin). She had a cute butt.

 

“Important question: pumpkin spice lattes or peppermint mochas?” Ashley said around her straw.

 

The girl looked up, flipping her hair over her shoulder. Her eyebrows were incredible. Ashley wanted to sit on her face. She raised an eyebrow at Ashley. “Neither, actually. I like the gingerbread lattes.”

 

Ashley made a face. “Dude, gross. Those taste like… I don’t know but they don’t taste very good.”

 

“To each their own, I guess,” she said, straightening up. She was taller than Ashley. Ashley was really, really gay. The girl smiled. “I’m Lynn, by the way. You work across the hall, right?”

 

“Yep, generic emo bullshit employee, at your service,” Ashley said, grinning up at her. “I’m Ashley. I’m also on break, which is why I’m standing around with a giant pretzel.”

 

Lynn nodded, turning back to the candles. Ashley wasn’t going to ask her to stop working, because she was new and on the clock. Ryan seemed like a relaxed manager (he had to be a little relaxed to be married to Brendon), but still, it was important to put on a good face for the first few weeks at any job.

 

“I like your hair, by the way,” Ashley said after a moment, because apparently she couldn’t shut up.

 

“Thanks,” Lynn said. “You’re is cool too. What’s it like working in a Hot Topic? Is everyone super edgy and punk looking, or are there, like, normal people there too?”

 

“My manager looks normal,” Ashley said. “But I’m pretty sure his husband is your manager, so maybe that’s why.”

 

“Ross is cool, but he doesn’t dress like a normal person,” Lynn said. She glanced over her shoulder, expecting Ryan to walk out of the back door at any moment. He didn’t, because he didn’t have any weird magic powers where he could just appear at the sound of his name. That would actually be terrifying, because Ashley talked about Ryan a lot when Ryan wasn’t around to hear it. It was almost always with Josh, and it usually involved Ryan being married to Brendon.

 

“You still with us?” Lynn asked a moment later.

 

Ashley nodded, feeling her face heat up a little. She hadn’t meant to go off on an internal tangent. It just happened sometimes. “Sorry, I was just thinking about how terrifying it would be if people showed up when we were talking about them behind their backs.”

 

“It would definitely cut down on gossip,” Lynn agreed. She stood up, looking Ashley up and down in a way that was not at all heterosexual. Ashley was going to hold that over Josh’s head later. Ashley could totally spot other gay people. She had at least one talent. Lynn smiled at Ashley. “When do you get off today?”

 

“Uh, four,” Ashley said. “But I’ve got all of Thursday off, too, if you’re working later or if you’ve got a weird schedule…”

 

“No, dude, that’s fine,” Lynn said. “It’s okay that I called you dude, right? I’ve got a lot of guy friends, and sometimes I forget that girls don’t always want to be called dude, and I don’t want to come off as a jerk or anything, you know?”

 

“Don’t worry, it’s fine.”

 

“Oh, sweet,” Lynn’s smile broadened. “Anyway, I get off at two, so if you don’t mind me loitering around your store for a few hours, we could go hang out somewhere after you get off? You could show me around the mall and introduce me to everyone, because I get the feeling that this place is kind of like one big family.”

 

“It totally is,” Ashley said. She was nodding a lot, because she was nervous and because she’d totally forgotten about her pretzel and now it was lukewarm and sad in her hand. “And I’d love to. At four. Once I get off.”

 

“It’s a date,” Lynn said, and finger-gunned at Ashley. Ashley was so glad that Lynn had ended up here, of all places.

 

\-------------------------

 

Pete showed up at around one, bearing some weird looking, good smelling soaps in a bag and glitter on his face and in his hair. Ashley didn’t ask. She knew better. She also didn’t bother telling Pete to get off the counter when he jumped up on the register that neither she nor Josh were using and got comfortable.

 

It only took a minute before someone came up to Pete and asked him to help them find something. Ashley leaned around the earrings rack to tell the customer that Pete didn’t work at Hot Topic, he only looked like he did, but Pete was already hopping off and directing the person to the corner of the store that had whatever they were looking for.

 

Ashley turned back around to Josh. “Your boyfriend is ridiculous. Why does he work at Lush again?”

 

“Because Mikey does and he and Mikey were dating before I joined,” Josh said. “Apparently there was this whole thing where Pete was trying to impress Mikey but Mikey was trying not to be too obvious that he liked Pete… whatever it was, it was cute and adorable and I’m glad they stopped being idiots before I started dating them.”

 

“They’re still kind of idiots,” Ashley argued. Pete was back at the register, but now he had a Deadpool snapback on and he was swinging his legs back and forth. He also had a box of cologne in his hands and was looking at it intensely.

 

“Well, yeah, but at least they know how to ask someone out now,” Josh said. He noticed that Ashley was watching Pete and turned to see what his boyfriend was doing as well. Josh sighed. “I should probably make sure he doesn’t accidentally steal something again.”

 

“I can’t believe I missed the great Pete Wentz Heist of 2016,” Ashley said.

 

“That’s what you get for calling in sick,” Josh said over his shoulder as he joined Pete at the register. Ashley shook her head. Pete was weirdly good at getting people to buy things from Hot Topic. It was probably the fringe. He looked like he’d time travelled straight out of 2007. He also bought most of his clothes from Hot Topic, and used Josh’s employee discount. Mikey used it too, and they both bought enough that it evened out, so Brendon wasn’t mad.

 

Speaking of Brendon… Ashley maneuvered over, holding the box of buttons and patches against her hip. “Hey, Josh, have you seen Brendon recently? I want to ask him about my schedule.”

 

“He should be in the back,” Josh said, while ringing up the person that Pete had been helping earlier. Pete was hunched over, messing with the music selection and searching for something angrier than what Josh and Ashley had settled on. Ashley handed the box over to Pete and told him not to lose it before she headed to the back to find Brendon.

 

He was in the break room, staring at the microwave like it had seriously injured him. He had his glasses on and his hair was exceptionally fluffy, and he was rotating his wedding ring around on his finger.

 

Ashley closed the break room door quietly behind her. “You okay, dude?”

 

“Why is there soap in the microwave?” Brendon said sadly. Ashley leaned over, and sure enough, there was a bar of soap, just sitting in the microwave like it belonged there. It was obviously from Lush, which meant that it was Pete’s fault, but Ashley couldn’t figure out why he’d put it in the microwave. She moved around Brendon and popped open the microwave to see if the soap had been cooked at all. It hadn’t. It was in perfect condition. It just happened to be in the microwave.

 

Ashley looked over her shoulder. “Is it microwave safe?”

 

“There’s not a label,” Brendon said. He looked like the world was crumbling down around him, all because of a nice smelling bar of soap in the company microwave. It was a slightly darker blue than Ashley’s hair, with a charcoal coloured top, and it smelled like a seaside resort. If it hadn’t been in the microwave for an indeterminate amount of time, Ashley probably would have taken it. It smelled good, and Ashley liked smelling good.

 

“So what do we do with it?” Ashley asked. “Because it looks like a fresh bar of soap, but it’s also been in the microwave and so I don’t trust it.”

 

“I have no idea,” Brendon said. “I don’t want to move it, though.”

 

Ashley nodded. She couldn’t explain it, but moving the soap wasn’t the right solution. They had to do something with the soap, and until someone came up with a plan, it would have to stay. She closed the microwave door. “So, I actually came back here to ask about my schedule for the next few weeks? But that seems kind of irrelevant since there’s soap in the microwave.”

 

“I’ve got everyone’s schedules ready, I just need to print them off,” Brendon said. He was still staring at the microwave. Ashley was pretty sure that the soap had broken him.

 

She moved towards the door. “I can go print them off?”

 

“Yeah, thanks,” Brendon said. Ashley gave him a fake salute and backed out the door to go print off the schedules. She took a picture of her own before pinning it up to the board that Brendon’s husband (Ryan) had decorated for the holiday season. There were zombie Santas and a turkey with an arrow through it’s head. It was creepy but awesome. There was also fake snow and some leaves.

 

* * *

 

 

jeff: im eatin g eggs whats up

mac: i’m eating taco dip and watching teen wolf because?? I hate myself and love teen drama and this show is Garbage but it’s SO GOOD

jeff: taco dip is good unless avocados

jeff: also you’ll realise i can’t fucking spell ever

mac: THAT IS OKAY I CAN mostly spell like when i pay attention to words and things and EW who puts avocado in taco dip that’s defiling taco dip

jeff: listen guac was a mistake avacados have the Bad Texture

mac: THE WORST TEXTURE also you should know i haven’t collab’d on a fic with anyone in like FOUR YEARS so like. However u wanna write this SINCE IT WAS UR IDEA is totes mcgotes cool with me and also i get REALLY EASILY DISTRACTED sometimes i have seven tabs open and also teen wolf so like. Sorry if i space out for a while and then tune back in I’M DOIN ME I GUESS

jeff: that’s fine; the last time i collabed with anyone was back in 2012 to do an avengers oc fic with 4 of my friends and we did it in an avengers notebook that we passed around every lunch period it was Wild we wrote a Sequel and then the friend group fell apart

mac: OH NO the worst :( my friend cassie and i actually collaborated on a fic for THE OUTSIDERS when we were fourteen and in high school and we passed THOSE NOTEBOOKS around and we still have them somewhere oh my god it so strange looking back on it like. This book came out…..so long ago….why are we doing this

jeff: the fic wasn’t even… that bad??? Like i mean it was obviously written by five teenagers but it wasn’t horrible and we actually made sure to follow canon like… it was fine until sarah turned into a total controlling dick and gave maura a mental breakdown

mac: gdit sarah please do not do that and ruin the friendship and the writing process  



	7. Kinky Polyam Panic!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to write some kinky shit involving the entirety of Panic!, apparently. I didn't get far with the actual writing, but I have some notes that are added after the writing. 
> 
> If you ever wanted to kinkshame me, now's your chance.

(Las Vegas, 2005)

 

Objectively speaking, Brendon’s apartment sucked. It was small, it was thoroughly under-furnished, and there wasn’t much to do unless someone remembered to bring movies over. Ryan had said he’d bring movies over, but then he had to cancel because of some girlfriend of his, and so Spencer and Brendon were alone in Brendon’s tiny little apartment. With no movies and no idea how to entertain themselves.

 

Of course, Brendon was jittery, because he was alway jittery. Spencer had known the guy for about a year, and he had yet to see what a calm Brendon looked like. He was beginning to suspect that such a thing didn’t exist. But, Brendon was being bouncy, Spencer was definitely not going to get his homework done (not that he ever thought he would), and Ryan wasn’t coming over to give them entertainment. Spencer dropped his pencil onto his notes and stretched across the couch. “Hey, Brendon, you got any weird secrets you don’t want anyone to find out about?”

 

“Probably,” Brendon said, rolling over on his bed so that he was on his stomach and looking at Spencer. “But since I don’t want anyone to know… why should I tell you?”

 

“Because I’m good at keeping secrets,” Spencer said. “Also, I’m bored and Ryan’s chosen his girlfriend of the week over us, again.”

 

“Well, that sucks for you, doesn’t it?” Brendon said. Spencer couldn’t tell if he was being judgemental or not. There was no way Brendon knew about Spencer and Ryan’s thing, because Spencer and Ryan never talked about it. Sure, there were rumours that the two were more than just friends, but those were just rumours and they weren’t true. Ryan wasn’t monogamous, not by any stretch, and Spencer and Haley had never claimed to be exclusive. So what if Spencer fooled around with his best friend sometimes when Ryan spent the night? And so what if they’d figured out how to make out properly, and have sex properly, with each other? They weren’t dating. Ryan had his girlfriends, and Spencer had Haley. And if Spencer was bisexual in private, none of that was directed at Ryan.

 

It would be weird if Spencer had romantic feelings for Ryan. Their friendship just didn’t work that way. And Spencer was pretty sure that Ryan didn’t have romantic feelings for him, or any guy. Ryan was probably straight, and just bored and horny and glad that Spencer didn’t care much for labels or monogamy.

 

Spencer rolled his eyes at Brendon, just in case Brendon had some suspicions as to what Ryan and Spencer did when they were alone. “I don’t have a crush on Ryan, Jesus Christ. I don’t have a crush on anyone, really.”

 

“Aren’t you and Haley still dating, though?” Brendon asked. Spencer shrugged. They were dating, sure, but it wasn’t anything official. It wasn’t meant to be. They just got along well and they both found the other attractive. Haley could see other people if she wanted.

 

Brendon frowned. “So, like, is it just not official dating, or what? Because you two act like you’re dating. Like, a lot. I’m kind of jealous.”

 

Spencer ignored the jealous comment. Of course Brendon was jealous of Spencer and Haley. Haley was gorgeous, and funny, and probably the best person Spencer had ever made out with. “We’re dating, kind of. I just don’t like labels, and she doesn’t either, and we’re not, like, exclusive or anything. We can fool around with other people, or whatever.”

 

Spencer didn’t mention that one of the reasons him and Haley weren’t super exclusive was because Spencer was into a lot of weird shit. He’d mentioned some of the tamer things to Haley, once or twice, and she hadn’t seemed interested. She’d told Spencer that if he found someone who was interested in getting tied up and hit or whatever else he was into, then he could have sex with them and she wouldn’t mind. She just didn’t want to share Spencer romantically. Spencer was cool with that. He wasn’t interested in anyone else romantically, so he wasn’t worried.

 

“So, like, if you wanted to kiss someone, you still could?” Brendon asked.

 

“Well, yeah,” Spencer said. “Although, if you ask literally anyone else, they’ll probably tell you that kissing someone doesn’t count as cheating. It’s only when you start doing more than just kiss them that it becomes a problem.”

 

“Okay,” Brendon said, and nodded. He stared at nothing for a moment, like he was seriously contemplating something, and then looked at Spencer. He looked Spencer up and down. “Do you still want to know my super secret?”

 

“Yeah, sure.”

 

“Don’t, like, judge me or anything, because I’m pretty sure Brent and Ryan already think I’m weird enough,” Brendon said. He took a deep breath. “But I’m into weird stuff. Like, weird sex stuff.”

 

Spencer’s heart did a weird thing. Not a crush thing, but more of a panicking thing, like when he thought his parents were going to walk in on him and Ryan or him and Haley. He nodded for Brendon to go on. “What kind of weird sex stuff?”

 

“Sometimes I put clothespins on my nipples and flick them and twist them around and stuff,” Brendon said. His face was red in the evening sun that filtered through the window. Spencer could imagine him, laying shirtless on his bed, one hand down his pants and the other messing with the clothespins on his nipples. Spencer hoped he was hiding his thoughts better than Brendon was. Brendon shifted around on the bed. “And I’ve never done it but I’ve always wanted to get tied down and, like, whipped? I saw it in porn once and it looked really hot. Is that weird?”

 

“Not… entirely,” Spencer said, slowly. He’d never really talked about his kinks, except for with Haley, and she hadn’t been interested, so Spencer had never gone too deep with what he was interested in. “I mean, I’m into some of that, too. But not having it done to me. More that I want to tie someone up and hit them, which isn’t really something you can just say to people.”

 

Brendon’s eyes widened, and Spencer was too far to tell, but he was pretty sure he could see Brendon’s irises getting bigger. Like he was getting aroused by this or something.

 

* * *

 

 

@ me stop making aus you have enough as it is

me @ myself: no and fuck you

 

LET’S GO

  * Takes place in late 2011 when Spencer and Linda start dating (because it’s going to be focused on Linda getting introduced to the kinky clusterfuck that is post split Panic! at the Disco)
  * Brendon and Spencer have been together since 2006
    * Were never official “boyfriends” or anything, but they were never just fuck buddies/friends with benefits
    * Back before the split, Ryan was also involved in their kinky shenanigans, but he and Spencer were never romantically involved
      * If we’re gonna get specific: they were queer-platonic or whatever and then they also did kinky shit with Brendon
    * Started labelling their relationship as “boyfriends” in 2009 when Breezy was like “you know your boyfriend has a huge pain kink, right” and Spencer was like “???”
  * Brendon and Sarah started dating in 2009, not long after the split
    * Met at a play party where Spencer let Sarah do a scene with Brendon because she thought he was hot, Spencer and Brendon weren’t exclusive, and Spencer liked seeing how other people could get Brendon off
    * Spencer and Sarah aren’t “dating” in the traditional sense, but they’ll do romantic things with Brendon sometimes, to show him off
  * Breezy and Dallon got married in 2006 like they do IRL, except they’re definitely kinky on their own in this fic
    * They’re both leaning more towards sadism, but Breezy’s a Dom whereas Dallon is a submissive and likes being told what to do and how to do it
    * They do have kids, but they keep their sex life and their family life seperate (don’t really go to play parties, don’t do a lot of public scenes, etc.)
  * Breezy’s the one who asks Spencer if he and Brendon (and Sarah, when she realises that Sarah and Brendon are the one’s who are dating) are interested in doing anything with Dallon
    * Breezy and Spencer are both only Doms/sadists, but Breezy’s more into master/servant whereas Spencer’s into painplay
    * Sarah’s into both but when she, Spencer, and Brendon do scenes together, she and Spencer have a weird power competition with each other
      * It’s friendly, though
  * Dallon and Brendon get together before anyone else, but since they’re both submissives, Spencer’s also there he’s just not “dating” either of them (except he’s kind of dating Brendon)
    * Sarah also does some scenes with Dallon and Brendon before the squad gets their shit together
  * Spencer meets Linda through a non-kinky party that Sarah and Brendon have, and they instantly get along
    * And then Spencer’s like “shit how do I date her when I’m already dating like four other people will she be cool with that/understand how polyamory works”
    * Doesn’t even think about the kinky sex part of his relationships, he’s just trying to figure out how to get /another/ girlfriend (because honestly who wouldn’t want to date Linda Ignarro she’s literally perfection)
  * Linda is a theoretical kinkster, since she’s never been in a relationship with anyone who was into kinky shit
    * She’s a switch with submissive tendencies, and prefers to sub for girls and dom for guys
      * Doesn’t mind making an exception for Spencer, since Dallon and Brendon are also subs and she can have them if she wants to
  * Okay, unrelated to anything but let’s have some Dallon/Linda I want them to do the do
  * Also, Breezy likes making sex videos of them all, and sometimes she’ll make a vid with some of the squad and randomly send it to whoever wasn’t there
    * Dallon’s at the point where he can appreciate it, Spencer’s more like “ok this is hot and all but I am literally at a Whole Foods can you please work on your timing”
  * Also unrelated but Dallon in lacy lingerie is 10/10 and will probably show up at some point
  * This will be the fic where Brendon takes two dicks at once and I will probably have to watch some really weird double penetration porn to figure out the logistics of that
  * There will be an orgy, at some point (may or not be kinky) where everyone get in on it
  * Brendon never wears clothes around his and Sarah’s house, which is rarely a problem because most of the people he and Sarah have over have already seen him naked
    * He does wear a collar, or boxers or thigh-highs/garters
    * He and Sarah don’t even have to be doing a scene; Brendon just likes being naked and wearing the presents his partners get him
      * He is a spoiled boy but they all love him




	8. Broadway, Bitch!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's fucking weird. It's a superpowers AU crossed with an acting AU? I don't know. Also I was going to have Tyler Joseph kill Colin Rigsby, even though no one knows who Colin is IRL. 
> 
> I never ended up writing it, but here are the character notes if anyone wants to write the weirdest fic of all time.

Brendon Urie, age 23. Originally from St. George, Utah. Has been floating around the country since he was kicked out of his home at age 17 for being gay. Has dreams of being on Broadway and is a talented actor, singer in his own way. Works odd jobs in Manhattan and busks on the side. Was in gymnastics from age 5-16. Has an amazing green thumb but his specialty is poison ivy.

 

Spencer Smith, age 22. Originally from Las Vegas, Nevada. Was in a band with his friend Ryan that flopped, went to culinary school and works as a head cook at a diner in Brooklyn. Has telekinesis, but he mostly uses it in the kitchen so that he can get orders out faster. Also works as a percussionist at a hole in the wall poetry club/cafe.

 

Ryan Ross, age 23. Originally from Las Vegas, Nevada. Was in a band with Spencer and went to UNLV for a semester and a half before dropping out to try and save the band. Dreams of being a world famous writer, currently working at a bar at night and as a hairdresser during the day. Can turn himself and anything he touches invisible.

 

Jon Walker, age 24. Originally from Chicago, Illinois. Works at the ticket booth for Broadway, also as a waiter at Spencer's diner. Rents a studio apartment with some friends, and is the first to meet Brendon. The only actual “superhero” of the group; he can fly and occasionally control minds. Usually that's only to remind people to tip. Chaotic good to the core.

 

Linda Ignarro, age 24. Originally from El Paso, Texas. A struggling law student who's become disenchanted with the American legal system but has nothing to fall back on. Works as a paralegal when not at school or helping Jon fight crime. Doesn't have powers, but has a background in martial arts and is always ready to throw down for the sake of justice.

 

Dallon Weekes, age 28. Originally from Salt Lake City, Utah. Works multiple jobs, including being a secretary at the law firm where Linda works. One of Jon's many roommates. Self-heals, is mostly nocturnal, and constantly has an iron deficiency bc of all the blood loss. Can often be found in the kitchen with Spencer, sipping blood-based smoothies that Spencer makes for him.

 

Colin Rigsby, age 26. Originally from Columbus, Ohio. Broadway star, charming, a friend and ex of Dallon's. Is found dead one morning after only being seen with one Brendon Urie, who was a known Broadway fan. Brendon claims he's innocent, but the evidence is saying otherwise. Luckily, he still has five friends who are willing to put their cynicism behind to team up as superheroes and save Brendon, and Broadway.

 

Tyler Joseph is, naturally, the real killer. He did it because he was jealous that Colin was rising to fame while he was stuck in the background. Brendon, who's actually talented, was just a convenient scapegoat.


	9. California

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how I mentioned that I write fic for class and then change the names? Well, this one has been fucking published. In a literary journal. So, get on my level or whatever. 
> 
> This is not the version that was published, obviously. This is the original/first draft before I fucked around with the names.

 

My wife disappeared on August 28, 1998. We weren’t officially married, because two women couldn’t do that. When I filed the report, I told the police I was only Linda’s roommate and friend. Her parents were from Texas and they would cut me off from everything if they knew I loved their daughter. I had to lie to the police about Linda when they asked me what our relationship was, because they knew she was an activist and they were only asking so that the other activists didn’t come for their asses.

It had been three months since I saw Linda last. I renewed our apartment lease even though my job alone couldn’t cover the rent. I didn’t want to admit that she was gone and that I was a widow. I would never be recognised as one, not in the eyes of the law.

Most women, when faced with the loss of their spouse, get to turn to their parents and friends to comfort them. I hadn’t talked to my parents since I graduated college two years ago. They didn’t care that Linda was a woman. They cared that she was poor and that I was giving up most everything to live with her.

I didn’t mind the trade. The apartment I shared with Linda was small, but it was well decorated and it felt like a home. That was all that mattered.

There were two officers sitting in our kitchen. One was tall, with a moustache straight out of the 70s. He asked for a cup of coffee before I could tell him that I didn’t drink coffee. The coffeemaker was Linda’s grandmother’s, and she’d brought it with her to college because she knew she wouldn’t be getting a lot of sleep. I hated coffee. It was bitter and it upset my stomach.

The second officer was a woman. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun at the base of her neck and her aviators were perched on the top of her head. Her nails were painted garnet. She wasn’t wearing any makeup.

I came back to the kitchen with two cups of coffee, one for each of them. I didn’t sit down. They were here either to interrogate me about my missing wife again or to tell me that they’d found her body.

Linda’s friend, the rich one whose parents owned a golf course, was a private investigator. I’d been using him to track her case, because I didn’t trust the police to keep tabs on a missing lesbian. Linda had protested in front of the police station six times since I met her at a Greek party four and a half years ago. Her friend had been protesting next to her every time, and he was just as suspicious of the police as I was.

The police knew who Linda was, and they hated her. They didn’t care if she was found. They would prefer if she disappeared and never returned, because to the police force, Linda was just a nuisance.

“Do you want to take a seat, Miss Orzechowski?” the woman asked.

I shook my head.

“Please,” the man said. It didn’t sound like a request, coming out of his mouth. “This will be easier for everyone if you’re sitting.”

“I’m fine as I am. Just tell me if Linda’s been found.”

They looked at each other. They’d decided she was dead. She was just another missing gay that they didn’t have to pretend to care about anymore. They wouldn’t care enough to go find her body, because she wasn’t a martyr in their eyes. She was the angry dyke who burned bras and started riots. She wasn’t an innocent eighteen year old left on the side of a road to bleed out and die.

I took a deep breath and composed myself. “She’s dead, isn’t she? You couldn’t find her, so you gave up and said she was dead.”

“That’s not how we decide to declare someone is dead,” the woman said. She was leaning towards me, trying to come across as sympathetic. It wasn’t going to work. I didn’t care for her sympathy, because she didn’t care about Linda. She offered me a sad smile. “We’ve contacted your friend’s parents and family, but we also wanted to let you know, since she was your friend and roommate. They’re planning on holding a memorial service, if you wanted to attend.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I said. “We were only friends.”

“I know, but the loss of a friend can be hard to handle,” the officer said.

I didn’t say anything else. I watched them drink Linda’s coffee while sitting at the table Linda and I had bought from a yard sale out in Santa Ana. The chairs were from my parents. They’d given them to us before I told them Linda was my girlfriend. They’d liked Linda up until that point, because they were liberals and they liked things that weren’t traditional. I think they saw gay people as a form of entertainment that only showed up in vibrant rainbow and drag shows during the summer Pride festival.

Linda took me to my first ever Pride in the summer of 1995. We’d just started dating, and I was terrified to be seen out in public with openly gay people. Linda was not. Linda was the only person from her town in Texas who was gay, and she was aggressive about it. She kept her hair long even though it made people say she wasn’t a “real dyke.” She wore rainbow suspenders and painted twin hearts on her cheeks. She looked like she belonged there. I looked like a sorority girl who’d gotten lost.

The officers left, and I was alone in our apartment. I called up Linda’s friend, the private investigator, and asked him to find out when and where the memorial service was going to be. I knew Linda wasn’t dead, but if her family believed she was, I would mourn her too. I was a part of their family, whether they wanted me there or not.

It turned out that the memorial service would be held in Texas, on Sunday afternoon. Linda’s friend showed up to our apartment that night with the location, one plane ticket, and two boxes of Chinese takeout.

We sat together on the couch Linda and I had taken from the front lawn of a frat house.

He held my hand when I was shaking too much to eat, and didn’t mention Linda.

I cried anyway.

I boarded the plane two days later, on a Saturday. It was quiet, and I was seated beside a woman who told me she had been a jazz singer fourty years ago.

“My first husband died in the war,” she said. “It was tragic. When you marry, don’t marry a soldier. You’ll spend all your time convinced he’s about to go die.”

“I already did,” I said. Linda wasn’t a soldier in the traditional way, but she still fought. She was sharp, she was passionate, and she would lay down her life for her people if she had to.

The woman beside me gave me the same sad smile I’d gotten from the officer. “I’m so sorry, honey. At least you’re in love with each other, right?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t say anything else to her about Linda. I was tired of lying to straight people about the love of my life, so I let her tell me about her dead husbands and her time as a jazz singer. She was interesting. I was not.

Linda came from a military family. Her parents were always poor, always working, and Linda was the fourth out of five children. She was the only person in her family who had gone to college, and she’d gone to UCLA on a full scholarship to study political science.

My parents have a house in Malibu. I was an only child, and I grew up having pool parties in the backyard because my parents didn’t want me contracting anything from a public beach. I drove up to UCLA as a freshman with the top down on my brand new Porsche and a pair of designer sunglasses shading my eyes from the hot California sun. I was a rich, spoiled city girl, and I fell in love with a feisty country girl.

I didn’t deserve her.

I got off of that plane, my wedges loud against the floor of the Dallas airport, and I walked. I got in a rental car--nothing fancy, I was tired of being that girl--and I drove to the only hotel in Linda’s hometown. I got strange looks. I didn’t belong. There were blonde highlights in my hair and my jeans were fitted to my legs.

I was not one of them.

My dress was too nice for the memorial. Linda’s parents refused to look at me. Her mother was wearing a hat. Her father had taken his off.

I left in the middle of it, because I could feel all of them staring at me. Some of them knew who I was, and hated me for it. I’d corrupted their girl. I’d turned her into a city liberal, a woman who refused traditions and protested for abortions. The truth was, Linda had done that before I introduced myself to her. Linda was her own woman, and she didn’t change for people.

I exited the chapel. There was a small bathroom that smelled like lavender, and I hid in there. I didn’t cry, because I knew Linda wasn’t dead. Not yet. I didn’t know where she was or what she was doing, but I knew she would be coming back.

I stared myself down in the mirror, and my reflection was not a sorority girl from Malibu. I was a dyke, just like the rest of them. I was dirty and angry and stubborn. I narrowed my eyes. _Go get her back. Don’t let them take the woman you love. Don’t let them win._

I grabbed my purse and straightened up. I dropped my sunglasses down onto my nose and strode out of that bathroom in Texas, back to the rental car. I was done waiting on the law to find my wife. I’d find her myself.

 


	10. I Shouldn't Have To Explain this to You (notes)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've actually posted some ficlets from this AU, but I never got around to really writing it. I came up with this during the winter of 16-17, and I like it, but it's too big for me. (Yes, I know that sounds hypocritical. Let me live. I have limits and the MM17 universe is one of them)
> 
> There are a lot of pairings in here, but since this is pretty much only notes, everything should be explained.

Summary: (winter 2014) Dallon Weekes and Mikey Way met online by chance, and created a publishing company for queer/mentally ill writers to get their work out into the public. The two have only met face to face a few times, as Dallon lives in Salt Lake City and Mikey lives with his sister and her wife and daughter in the Newark/NYC area. Dallon has shared custody of their two children with their ex-wife, and Mikey is recovering from a string of failed marriages and failed engagements. One of their frequent submitters, P Wentz, requests meeting his publishers face to face to discuss a film adaptation, and Mikey has to go meet him alone because Dallon is doing the dad thing.

 

Dallon Weekes: 33, genderqueer (they/he), gay.

  * Parent to Amelie (8) and Knox (5)
  * Married to Breezy Douglas (2005-2010); they divorced because Dallon figured out they were gay/queer and Dallon didn’t want to keep Breezy trapped in a marriage she didn’t enjoy
    * Agreed to have split custody of the kids because Breezy didn’t want her kids to grow up hearing bad things about their parent without knowing them and Dallon wanted to be a dad/not lose their kids for the sake of their sexuality
  * Attended Brigham Young University from 1999-2003; graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in English
  * Worked multiple jobs after graduating (at a library, local bookstore, etc.) until 2006 when they got a job teaching 6th grade Language Arts at Ecker Hill Middle School
  * After the divorce, Dallon moved to a condo in Park City to focus on writing
    * They weren’t /fired/ from their teaching position, but it was advised that they leave before they actually got fired
  * Around 2009, they discovered online writing/beta-ing communities for LGBT writers, got involved, and started selling their editing services
    * They met Mikey in 2011, and the two set up their publishing company later that year (named it “I Shouldn’t Have to Explain This” because of how so many cishet/neurotypical writers and readers were completely clueless about everything that could easily be googled)



 

Mikey Way: 34, cis man (he/him), pansexual.

  * His older sister, G (37) is transgender and also pansexual; she taught him about the queer community and is an independent comic artist
  * Mikey is 100% deaf in his left ear and 60% deaf in his right ear; he and G are both fluent in ASL
    * Mikey was born 40% deaf in both ears, but when he was 13 Mikey was attacked by a group of homophobic guys; his left eardrum was destroyed in the assault


  * Married to Alicia Simmons (2004-2009); dated/engaged to Sarah Eme (2009-2010); engaged to Kristen Colby (2013)
    * Mikey and Alicia divorced because of Mikey’s drug/depression issues and because Mikey had cheated on her
    * Sarah Eme was a fan of his sister-in-law and one of Lindsey’s groupies (she and Mikey never got married because Mikey entered rehab and she left him)
    * Kristen and Mikey parted on good terms; they realised that they were better off as friends and that Mikey wasn’t ready for marriage
      * Kristen and Mikey still get coffee every other Thursday
  * Attended Rutgers University with his friend/on and off boyfriend Frank Iero from 1998-2000; dropped out to work at a local record/recruiting company
    * He and Frank were still semi-together until late 2003, when Mikey met Alicia
    * Mikey was the one who helped Frank’s band get noticed initially, because he and Frank were roommates in college
  * After Frank’s band fell apart, Mikey got a job at a local bar/club where his job was essentially to find talent and get them recognised
    * Eventually Mikey started working with the bands to help them write their music because even though he couldn’t hear he knew how music worked and was also pretty good at writing
  * Suffers from depression/suicidal ideation/drug addiction; went through rehab and moved in with G and Lynz in 2011
    * Had been working unofficially as G’s editor for a few months before he and Dallon decided they wanted to become actual editors and do something with their lives



 

Pete Wentz: 35, cis man (he/him), bisexual.

  * Father to Bronx (6) and Saint (1)
  * Never married; Bronx and Saint both have different moms, neither of whom wanted to keep their children and so Pete became the dad instead
  * Attended the University of Chicago from 1997-2001 on a soccer scholarship, but dropped out before graduating because of a career ending injury and also because he had started a band with some friends
  * Balanced his band, working various customer service jobs, and writing poetry about people he dated from 2001-2008, when his band broke up and he became a dad
    * Still worked various jobs and started publishing his poetry through various indie publishing companies
    * Found ISHTET Publishing through an ex (Ryan Ross) in 2012 and started sending both short fiction and poetry to them
  * Dated a lot of different people in the scene while he was in a band
    *  Bronx’s mom, Ashlee, almost married him until she got a major acting role and left him for LA; they dated from 2006-2008
    * Saint’s mom, Meagan, broke up with Pete before she realised was pregnant, and they tried getting back together but it didn’t work



 

G Ballato-Way: 37, trans woman (she/her), pansexual.

  * Mother to Bandit (12)
  * Married to Lynz, who has an art gallery with two friends in SoHo and used to play bass when she was younger/before her art took off
    * G and Lynz got married in 2001: they’d been dating for about a year, and decided to get married after G legally changed her name
  * When she was eight, her parents died in a car accident and she was left paralyzed from the waist down and has been using a wheelchair ever since
    * Her and Mikey’s grandmother raised them after their parents died
  * Attended the School of Visual Arts from 1996-2000; graduated with a degree in Comic Arts and Design
  * Worked at an animation studio for a few months until she married Lynz, and then started working at Lynz’s gallery while developing her own comic
    * Mikey was the one to suggest making a digital version/expansion of her comics, which she did
    * The comic series (there are four total as of 2014) started showing up on G’s livejournal and her own personal website in 2005
  * They wanted to have a child of their own, and so Bandit happened soon after G married Lynz
    * Bandit was very well loved by Elena (G and Mikey’s grandmother) until she died in 2007



 

Lynz Ballato-Way: 38, cis woman (she/her), lesbian.

  * Mother to Bandit (12)
  * Married to G (see G’s section for more details about that)
  * Attended the Pratt School of Art from 1996-1998; dropped out because she couldn’t afford to keep going to college
    * She also spent a year and a half after graduating high school working in New York to try and get enough money to go to art school, because that was the only thing she wanted to do with her life at the time
    * She worked odd jobs for a bit until a friend got her into an audition for a local band (which she aced because she’s fucking badass)
  * Worked on her own personal art while playing bass for the band; eventually she and a friend got a showing together in 2007
    * The friend (Jessicka) had another friend (Frances) whose parents were filthy rich and together the three women opened a gallery they called “The Witches Art Coven”
    * The Witches Art Coven has other artists besides Frances/Jessicka/Lynz but most of the art is theirs
  * Is a practicing witch and is into occultism; one of the rooms in the basement is where she keeps her witchcraft supplies/does her rituals
    * Mikey knows what’s in there and also that he’s not supposed to touch Lynz’s stuff, so he just avoids it



 

Spencer Smith: 27, cis male (he/him), bisexual.

  * Not married, no children
    * Was in a serious relationship with Haley Heckenberg from 2005-2008
  * Oldest of three; has two twin sisters (21) who are both in college (Jackie is at Fresno Pacific University, Crystal is at Northern Arizona University)
  * Attended the University of Colorado, Boulder from 2005 to 2009; graduated with a Bachelor's degree in Business
  * While in college, he spent his winter breaks working at Winter Park Ski Resort with two of his friends; also worked at the resort during the summer
    * When he graduated college, he and his friend Brendon moved out near Winter Park to work at/around the resort full time
    * Basically he gets paid to be a ski bum
    * At some point he learned how to cook for real and got a job as a chef at Winter Park
  * He got offered a job as a chef at a new restaurant in Park City, and took the job because he wasn’t an idiot and also he’d never been to Utah before



 

Brendon Urie: 27, cis male (he/him), gay/achillian

  * Not married, no children
  * Youngest of five:
    * Kyla: 30, Salt Lake City, Utah
    * Martin: 31, Paradise, Nevada
    * Jenna: 33, Boulder City, Nevada
    * Mathew: 34, St. George, Utah
  * Left home in 2004 and lived with his sister Kyla for two years while working various jobs, one of which was a day care assistant at Park City
    * Taught himself how to snowboard so he could be an instructor, and moved to Winter Park to teach kids how to board
  * Met Jon, Spencer, and Ryan in the winter of 2008 and moved in with them at the end of the ski season
  * When Spencer got offered a job back in Park City, Brendon applied to work as a full time instructor and moved to Utah with him
    * This is partially because Brendon was crushing hardcore on Spencer but unaware that Spencer was even into guys



 

Ray Toro: 37, genderqueer man (they/he), pansexual.

  * Father to Charlie (8)
  * Married to Christa, who’s also genderqueer and uses xe/xem pronouns; Christa is a queer activist and works with various LGBT non-profit groups
    * They got legally married in 2011, but had been living together as monogamous partners since 2004
  * Attended the University of Rochester from 1995-2000; graduated with a Bachelor's in Pre-Law and English
    * Attended law school at the University of New York at Buffalo from 2000-2003; graduated with a Master of Laws Degree
      * Specialised in Intellectual Property Law
  * Worked at a law firm in Rochester from 2004-2008
    * They became the lawyer/consultant for The Witches Art Coven in 2008, and ISHTET Publishing Company in 2011 when G told them what Mikey was doing with Dallon
    * Moved down to NYC to be closer to their clients and because it gave them access to other small artists who needed legal services



 

Frank Iero: 32, cis man (he/him), gay

  * Single father; adopted three children whose parents died in an accident
    * Lily (5)
    * Cherry (5)
    * Miles (3)
  * Never married, has been in multiple relationships with various guys
    * Has an on and off, unofficial thing with Mikey (if they’re both single at the same time then they get together and fool around on weekends kind of thing)
  * Attended Rutgers University for a year before dropping out with Mikey to be in a band full time
  * After the band fell apart, Frank started floating around and filling in as a guitarist for various local bands
    * Also worked as a guitar tech and at the same bar that Mikey worked
  * When Mikey and Dallon’s publishing company starts getting popular, Mikey offers Frank a job as a tech guy
    * Frank accepts, starts taking some classes at Rutgers so that he can also work as an editor



 

Ashley Frangipane: 20, cis woman (she/her), bisexual

  * Not married, no children
  * No siblings; she left home at seventeen to pursue a career in music since her parents were unable to help her financially
  * Works as a DJ at a nightclub in Atlantic City (Haven Nightclub) while living in Ocean City with two housemates
    * Housemates: Josh Dun and Tyler Joseph
  * Met Frank and Mikey while working at the nightclub; was interested in the publishing company because she’s also queer and mentally ill
    * Mikey let her work on some things, so long as they passed through him or Dallon first
    * Turns out she’s pretty good at calling people out on their shitty language and at editing fiction



 

Ryan Walker-Ross: 28, cis man (he/him), gay

  * Father to Sagan (2)
    * She’s Jon’s biologically, and they had a surrogate mother
    * Ryan doesn’t trust his own genes in a child but he loves Sagan like she’s his own and is a good dad
  * Married to Jon Walker-Ross
    * In a civil union in Chicago since late 2011
    * Officially married in June 2014
    * Have been together as a couple since 2007, monogamous since 2011
      * They were “not using labels” from 2005-2007; Ryan confessed to having more than casual feelings for Jon then
      * Ryan and Pete were a short fling after Pete and Ashley broke up in 2008 (when Ryan and Jon moved to Chicago)
  * Attended the University of Colorado, Boulder from 2004-2008; graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in English and Literature
  * Spent his winter breaks working at Winter Park Ski Resort
  * After graduation, he and Jon moved to Chicago so that Jon could be closer to his family and because Ryan was hoping to find a publishing company in Chicago so that he could publish his work
  * Ryan started using online publishing services
    * Found ISHTET as at was being formed, liked the idea, submitted a series of poetry/short stories and got published
    * One of ISHTET’s first authors



 

Jon Walker-Ross: 29, cis man (he/him), pansexual

  * Father to Sagan
    * His (and Cassie’s) daughter biologically
    * He and Ryan are her parents/guardians, but Cassie is still involved in her/their lives
      * Cassie still lives in Colorado; they visit over the summer
  * Married to Ryan
    * See Ryan’s section for more details
  * Attended the University of Colorado, Boulder from 2003-2007; graduated with a Bachelor’s in Art and Photography
  * Spent winter and summer breaks working at various ski resorts
    * Was the one to get Ryan/Spencer/Brendon jobs at Winter Park
    * Worked there as an instructor in the winter and as a guide/photographer in the summer
  * After graduation, worked odd jobs in Boulder until he and Ryan decided to move to Chicago to be with Jon’s family
  * Got a job at a photography company that does independent movie promotion pictures and weddings (for some reason)
    * Was the one to suggest that Pete turn his book into a movie



 

Sarah Orzechowski: 26, cis woman (she/her), lesbian/sapphic

  * No children
  * Married to Linda Ignarro (2010)
  * Attended the University of California, Los Angeles from 2006-2011; graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Cognitive Science
    * Started a fashion/cosmetics blog and YouTube channel in 2009, both of which started to get popular near her graduation
  * Worked part time as a makeup artist to help pay for college
    * She worked for the modelling company Breezy was a part of, and that’s how the two of them met (they got along really well)
  * Met Linda at a frat party and proceeded to have a sexuality crisis
  * She currently runs her own blogs, and is working to produce a line of makeup that is inexpensive and environmentally friendly



 

Linda Ignarro: 25, agender (they/them), lesbian

  * No children
  * Married to Sarah
    * See Sarah’s section for details
  * Attended the University of California, Los Angeles from 2007-2011; graduated with a Bachelor’s degree in Sociology
  * Very prominent in political protests and activism
    * Wrote for the college’s more liberal newspaper, was always willing to call people out on their privilege and/or ableist/homophobic/transphobic/racist language
  * Found out about ISHTET through Sarah, who found out through Breezy
    * Was hired as an editor in early 2012
    * Later that year, Dallon realised they needed a personal assistant to help with being a single dad and one of the owners of a rapidly expanding business
      * Linda offered to work as their assistant, since Sarah could work out of the home office and moving to Utah wouldn’t be too hard



 

Breezy Douglas Weekes: 34, cis woman (she/her), heterosexual

  * Mother to Amelie (8) and Knox (5)
  * Married to Dallon from 2005-2010 (see Dallon’s notes for more details)
  * Remarried in 2013
    * No children (yet)
  * Attended the University of Southern California from 1998-2002; graduated with a Bachelor of Arts degree
  * Moved to Salt Lake City after she got a job there working at a theatre
    * Dallon was in the orchestra for a few of her shows, and that’s how they met
  * After the divorce, she moved back to California/Hollywood to work as a director at UCLA’s college theatre
  * Also started modelling after the divorce to make some extra money on the side
    * Met Sarah while modelling, bonded almost instantly, and Breezy was the one to suggest that Dallon hire Linda onto their team/business




	11. How Different Life Would Be (Phan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phan? In my bandom fic dump? It's more likely than you think. 
> 
> Yes, I wrote Phan as well, but not much. This was supposed to be a scifi/time travel AU and while I like it, I don't think I'll ever do anything with it. I just don't care enough about Dan and Phil fics to write for them again. I like Dan and Phil, I just don't feel the urge to ship them.

141020082105\. Manchester, England.

I was assigned a target, named Bradley Webb. He was a small part of the organ trafficking business, but my superiors considered him important enough to take out. Either that, or I was such a shite agent that they gave him to me out of pity.

In case you’re wondering, I had already found him. He was downtown, just running some errands, and I was tailing him. It was raining and cold, and I wished that I had something warmer than my dark grey hoodie. Unfortunately, running after a man while wearing a heavy jacket wasn’t optimal. Patriot’s Academy prided itself on being the best.

He didn’t even notice me. He probably didn’t think he was being tailed, because he wasn’t that big of a deal, and the world wouldn’t change if he died.

I hated my life sometimes, but it was the only one I had, so I couldn’t complain. At least I wasn’t a complete orphan. My aunt, Rebecca Howell, had been considerate enough to take me in and enroll me in Patriot’s Academy. She was a graduate herself, and currently working undercover in the United States as a housewife. She was gathering information on the United States military operations in the Middle East.

Webb still hadn’t noticed me, even though I’d been following him around since he left his house this morning. He still hadn’t made any illegal deals, so far as I could tell.

I was bored.

 

141020082135\. Manchester, England.

Webb stepped out of a clothing store with no new bags in his hands. I rolled my eyes. What was the point of this never-ending shopping trip if he was only going to buy something every five stores?

I wanted something to happen. Anything would be better than this mindless wandering.

 

141020082148\. Manchester, England.

A series of gunshots, coupled with screaming. I didn’t turn and look. I wasn’t allowed to. I couldn’t lose Webb, no matter what happened.

The noises got closer. One of the screams started to become more coherent: “Get out of the way! Move! Move! Get out!”

I still didn’t look back, to see what the hell was going on. God knows I was curious. Manchester wasn’t one of those cities where the streets were always getting shot up. Of course, there were places where that was normal, even expected, but this wasn’t one of those.

Webb wasn't like me, though. He could look over his shoulder. And he did. He saw me first, before whatever was causing the chaos, and he recognized me. He swore and pulled a gun from his belt.

I ran. I wasn't risking my life over something this small. Fuck Webb. Fuck the Patriot's Academy. Fuck this mission. I wasn't going to die out here, in a city I didn't belong in, working a job I didn't want.

Unfortunately, my path took me straight into another person. He'd been running too, backwards, while shooting some weird ray gun at the guys who had caused the explosion. We slammed against each other and fell down. I landed on my ass, and he on his elbows and knees.

I got up first and looked around. Webb was behind me, and there was a terrifying army in front of me. The army didn't look like anything real I'd seen; it was more of a scifi horror film army. I was not going to run towards that.

The other option was out onto the road, but there were cars and people and neither of them were likely to stop for me.

"Come on!" The guy grabbed me around the torso and physically dragged me into the store beside us. It was a women's clothing boutique. Great for going undercover. Not.

I jerked out of his grip, elbowing his nose in the process. I stepped away from him and the door, ready to fight him off if I needed to. "Who the hell are you?"

"Look, I know this seems weird, but I need your help." The guy said, putting his hands up innocently. He still had the ray gun in his right hand. "I'm from the future--kind of--and I'm on the run from some really bad people. You saw them, they're ruthless."

"So am I."

"Yes, but I trust you. I know how you die, Agent Howell. It's heroic." This guy was crazy. I pulled my weapon and aimed it straight at him. He knelt down, slowly, and placed his ray gun on the floor. He stood back up, looking at me with piercing blue eyes. Radioactive eyes. I swallowed. "You're fucking with me. Who sent you? Tell me."

"I sent myself!" He said. "And please don't shoot, I don't like dying. Not that I've done it before, but dying just doesn't seem fun. Also I'm not here to hurt you."

"Fine. But you owe me one hell of an explanation." I lowered my gun. If he tried anything, I could always kill him then. I was trained to kill. It was just another part of who I was. I stepped towards him, my eyes flickering down to his ray gun. “Start with that, and your name.”

“That’s an electric gun, and I’m Phil.” He said. He was looking down at it as well. “Can I pick it up now? We need to leave before they come for us.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I said. As long as he didn’t try to use it on me, I’d be fine. I wasn’t about to think about what kind of damage an electric gun would do to me. I didn’t really want to know.

 

141020082327\. Manchester train station.

Phil and I were sat in the last row of the train car, both facing forward. There weren’t a lot of other people on the train. He could have sat across from me, or I from him, but I guess neither of us trusted the other one enough. I didn’t know if he’d guard my back. I didn’t think he would.

I glanced away from the window, at him. “So you’re from the future? What year, exactly, are you from?”

Phil shifted in his seat. His fringe fell into his face, and he moved it away. “Depends.”

“On?”

“Well, I was born in 1987, I think, but I was raised in the fifties.” He said. I gave him a look. None of those dates were in the future. He looked straight at me. “The twenty-fifties. Time travel isn’t discovered until the end of the Twenty-Twenty War.”

“Of course.” I had to take everything Phil said at face value. I didn’t have proof otherwise, and it wasn’t as though I could fact check him.

 

 


	12. Move In Day (Brallencer)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was from the Brallencer Coffeeshop AU. It takes place after the three of them have been dating for a while and decided to move in with each other. It was supposed to be just fluff, but I'm really bad at fluff with no plot. So. Didn't finish this either. (Whoops)

After Brendon moved in for his senior year, it didn’t take them too long to figure out a system. The system was already there, considering that Brendon had spent most of spring semester unofficially living with Spencer and Dallon. Making it official was good, though. It was scary, because it meant that if things went to shit Brendon would be the one kicked out and then he wouldn’t have an apartment. It was also scary because he still hadn’t told his parents that he was bisexual, let alone that he was dating two guys (one of whom was a lot older and a fellow ex-Mormon).

 

The apartment is the same that it was in May when Brendon left to go study for finals in his own apartment, but now the bed is bigger and Dallon’s added a few more pillows to the couch. Spencer finally convinced Dallon to let them have coffee in the apartment so that Spencer wouldn’t spend all his money on Starbucks (because they both believed that Brendon would eventually stop working at Starbucks), and now there were three opened bags of Starbucks Espresso Roast on the counter, with a few grounds spilled on the counter. Brendon leaned over and swiped them into his hand before dumping them into the trash can that had never found it’s way back under the sink where it belonged.

 

Brendon had downsized, telling his mom and dad that the apartment he was getting with his two friends (who were really his boyfriends and only one of them was still in college) was small and he didn’t want to crowd them. He’d also told them that Dallon and Spencer were going to help him move in, and that his parents didn’t need to help. Brendon was just hoping to keep his mom and dad from meeting Spencer and Dallon before he graduated and was no longer obligated to come home during the breaks.

 

Dallon poked his head around the doorframe, his bangs plastered to his forehead from the heat. “So, are you going to admire all the redecorating we did for you or are you going to help us move all your things inside?”

 

“I didn’t bring that much!” Brendon argued, but he brushed his hands off and grabbed the keys (his keys) to the apartment and followed Dallon back out to the back parking lot. Spencer was taking boxes out of the back of his truck, and stopped when Brendon and Dallon came up to him. He jumped out of the bed of the truck and put his sunglasses up on his forehead, staring Brendon down. “No offense, but I’m starting to think there’s some correlation between Mormonism and hoarding. You and Dallon have way to much stuff for a single person.”

 

“I’m not that bad.” Dallon said, leaning over the truck and grabbing a suitcase full of clothes. “And I have an excuse, being in a band and having an instrument and gear and all that.”

 

“Yeah, okay, but you still had way too much stuff when we moved in together.” Spencer said, pecking Dallon’s neck. It was a thing that both Brendon and Spencer did, kissing Dallon’s neck casually. Dallon was too tall for casual cheek kissing, especially for Brendon, who was the shortest of the three and was small enough that Dallon could give him piggy back rides on occasion. Brendon tugged at the corner of Dallon's shirt until Dallon leaned over and kissed Brendon's forehead with a smile. “It's okay. I love you even though you have too much stuff.”

 

“Yeah, I guess I love both my hoarders.” Spencer said with a smile. He picked up the box he'd just gotten out of the truck and handed it over to Brendon. Dallon picked up the suitcase and Spencer grabbed another box before the three headed back up into the apartment. They dropped everything around the couch, figuring they'd unpack Brendon's things for real once they were out of the ridiculous late July heat. It took about thirty minutes to get everything up, and by then all three of them were sweaty and tired. Spencer fell back onto the couch. “So, Brendon, how much of this do you actually need and how much can we just leave in the boxes until it's not so fucking hot?”

 

“That depends on how you and Dallon feel about me not wearing clothes.” Brendon said, doing the responsible thing and getting ice water for everyone while Dallon joined Spencer on the couch, letting his head fall on Spencer's shoulder. Brendon brought the waters over and sat on the other side of Spencer. Brendon stared at Dallon, watching a bead of sweat fall down his neck. If Brendon wasn't also overheated and tired, he'd probably lean over and lick it off. Instead, he let out a sigh and said, “it's too hot to do anything. I'm going to literally die.”

 

Spencer ran his hand through Brendon's hair, which was going limp. “Don't be so dramatic, baby. We've lived here our whole lives; we're used to this shit.”

 

“Dallon hasn't.” Brendon said. Dallon closed his eyes and nodded against Spencer. “Dallon's from Salt Lake City, which is in the mountains. Dallon's probably seen snow in his backyard. He's gonna fucking die.”

 

“I think I'm fine, but thanks for the concern.” Dallon said. He nestled further into Spencer’s shoulder, and Spencer kissed the top of his head. Dallon let out a sigh. “You know what sucks? I have a rehearsal tonight. I can’t even stay in and be lazy with the two of you.”

 

“Skip it.” Brendon suggested, at the same time that Spencer said, “we can bring you dinner if you’d like.”

 

Dallon smiled and looked up at the two of them. “You two are perfect. And, yes, Spence, I’d like it if you brought dinner. Just for us, though, not the whole band.”

 

“Whatever you want.” Spencer said, his face half in Dallon’s hair, his hand still stroking Brendon’s hair. Brendon took a sip of his water, because it was hot as fuck, even in the apartment, even with the fan in the corner at full blast. He wasn’t about to move, though, even though Spencer was warm. There wasn’t anywhere else he’d rather be, than with his two boyfriends, who were wonderful and gorgeous and also just as sweaty as he was. He moved away from Spencer to set his drink down, and pulled his shorts off of his legs. “Okay, but if we’re gonna cuddle on the couch can we at least not be fully dressed.”

 

“I swear you’re allergic to clothes.” Spencer said, running his hand up Brendon’s spine. “But, hey, I’m not stopping you.”

 

“Good.” Brendon said, and tossed his shirt off. His shoes, along with Spencer’s and Dallon’s, were in a pile by the front door. He toed his socks off and then took off his shorts, so that he was down to nothing but his boxer briefs. Brendon turned around and looked down at Spencer and Dallon, who were just watching him, and put his hands on his hips. “What, you two aren’t going to join me?”

 

“If you’re insinuating we have sex right now, I’m going to veto.” Dallon said. Spencer ruffled his hair. “Aww, Dal’s getting old.”

 

“I’m twenty seven, shut up.” Dallon said, and pouted. Which was adorable, and Brendon leaned over the both of them to tilt Dallon’s head up and kiss him. Dallon kissed back, fingers light on Brendon’s shoulder like he didn’t know whether or not to grab hold. Spencer placed his hand on Brendon’s lower back, pushing him closer to Dallon so that Brendon was essentially sitting in their laps. He sat down, mostly in Spencer’s lap with his bare legs tangling on top of Dallon, and took the two of them in. He grinned. “I knew you two only loved me for my body.”

 

“I also love you for your coffee making skills.” Spencer added, looking very serious about the whole thing. Dallon shrugged. “I’ll admit it, I’m only dating you because you’re a gorgeous man who enjoys not wearing clothes. You’re also very entertaining, but that’s not why I agreed to dating you.”

 

“You’re an ass.” Brendon said, and pulled at the hem of Dallon’s shirt. “The least you could do is let me enjoy what I moved here for.”

 

“Your pick up lines need some help.” Spencer said. Dallon shifted his position without kicking Brendon’s legs off of him, propping his head up with his elbow. “I don’t know why we stopped at the couch, honestly. There’s a large, soft bed in the other room that we’re not using at all, and it’s probably a lot cooler than out here.”

 

“Thought you said you didn’t want to have sex.” Spencer said, nudging Brendon off of him, because Dallon was right and, yes, the bed would be better for this than the couch. If they were going to just laze around until Dallon had to leave, especially if they were going to do it in only their underwear. Brendon had no qualms about walking around in almost nothing, but the other two weren’t so comfortable with stripping and walking around the apartment. Brendon didn’t mind it too much.

 

Brendon stood up and pulled Spencer and Dallon up with him, and the three headed back to the bedroom, the door already open because they genuinely didn’t have plans other than moving Brendon in and Dallon getting to rehearsal. Brendon climbed on the bed, laying back and stretching out while Spencer and Dallon took their clothes off. Sometimes, it was nice to just watch them, see the little things they’d picked up from each other. Spencer and Dallon had been Spencer and Dallon for two years before Brendon came into the picture, and while they’d all expected Brendon to be jealous of one or both of them, that jealousy had never come. He rarely felt left out, and they both made sure to make him feel loved.

 

Dallon climbed in beside Brendon first, laying out beside him, looking him up and down. He smiled. “I missed you.”

 

“I missed both of you.” Brendon said. “The Skype calls were great, but there’s just something about being in the same room with you both that I couldn’t get through a camera.”

 

“Especially since Skype cameras are the worst quality.” Spencer said, and nudged Brendon’s butt. “Pick a side, baby, you can’t have the whole bed.”

 

Brendon rolled his eyes but then scooted in beside Dallon, tucking his head under Dallon’s chin. Spencer laid down behind Brendon, draping his arm over Brendon’s waist and trailing his fingers lazily over Dallon’s stomach. Dallon kissed the top of Brendon’s head, and Brendon cuddled in closer to him, breathing in both his and Spencer’s scents. There was sweat mixed in with their colognes of choice, but Brendon couldn’t bring himself to care. He loved them both, and he was between them, and very, very comfortable.

 

At some point, he must have drifted off, because one moment he was closing his eyes and listening to Dallon and Spencer talk about their plans for the week, and the next thing he knew, the bend was moving and Dallon was getting up, his hair ruffled and looking adorable. Brendon stretched out, not hitting Spencer because he could still feel Spencer’s warmth behind him, and let out a yawn. “What did I miss?”

 

“I’ve gotta put on some clothes and go to band rehearsal. I’ll see you two in a few hours.” Dallon said, leaning back over the bed to kiss both Brendon and Spencer in turn. Spencer held on to Dallon’s shoulder with the hand that had previously been on Brendon’s waist. “You know, you could just not wear clothes.”

 

“I think the other guys would have a problem with that.” Dallon said. Brendon reached up and poked him in the chin. “Yeah, that or they’d try to steal you away from us.”

 

Spencer dropped his hand. “Brendon’s got a point. Go put on clothes, and be good.”

 

“I always am.” Dallon said, and got back up. Spencer and Brendon laid there, just watching him move around and get ready. Considering how long the three had been together (almost a full year), it wasn’t weird. Dallon left after kissing them both again, and told them he trusted their judgement when it came to food. Once he left, Spencer pulled Brendon over so that Brendon was on his back and Spencer was propped up on his elbow above him. Spencer leaned in and kissed Brendon, and Brendon kissed back eagerly. This whole living together thing was pretty great, and it kept getting better the longer he was here. He pulled back from the kiss. “This year is going to be great.”

 

“Yeah, for you.” Spencer said, kissing him again. “You’re a senior, you get to graduate and move on with your life, but I’m stuck here for one more year because I managed to pick a five year major instead of a normal four year one. And Dallon’s got his band, and if I wasn’t going to be here for another two years we could be looking into maybe moving somewhere that isn’t so hot and surrounded by loud, obnoxious college kids.”

 

“Honey, we _are_ loud and obnoxious college kids.” Brendon said.

 

“Yeah, but we’re dating a real adult so we’re not as obnoxious as we could be.” Spencer said. Brendon shifted so that he was closer to him, not that there was much closer to get, considering that Spencer was almost on top of Brendon.


	13. Spin for Me Like a Record (or Like Time) (Petekeycia)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supposed to be for a Minibang, I think. I know I wrote it for a reason other than "I want to do this," because this was back when I was a hardcore Petekey and I didn't want to ship the boys with anyone else. Now I don't give a fuck and I'll ship anyone with anyone so long as they're not related. 
> 
> Peteleycia is Pete/Mikey/Alicia and it's some good shit.

There were a lot of things that happened during the summer of 2005. The internet picked up on a lot of them, but the internet didn’t know shit, and there was a reason Mikey made himself a “Don’t Google Yourself” shirt a few years later. The internet liked to come up with conspiracy theories about pretty much anything, especially if it seemed shady. The summer of 2005 was very shady to those who didn’t live it.

 

The internet was convinced that Mikey Way and Pete Wentz had had a summer fling and fallen in love that summer, only to end it for… whatever reason. Mikey had read too many conspiracy theories on his own life. The thing was, Mikey and Pete had been a thing. Mikey and Alicia had also been a thing, as had Pete and Alicia and Pete, Mikey, and Alicia all at once. It was complicated, it was awkward at times, but for three months, it worked. And then the tour ended, and Pete panicked and left for Chicago, and Mikey and Alicia were left with each other and a lot of unanswered questions from their boyfriend.

 

They got married, and then the Black Parade happened, and Pete kept writing songs about both of them, even though he and Ashlee Simpson were married and had a kid. And then Mikey’s own personal shit started to hit the fan, and he retreated to Alicia because he couldn’t help Gerard and himself at the same time. They talked about having a kid of their own for about three minutes before realising that they were doing it only because of Pete and Bronx and half-formed “what ifs?” that could never be answered.

 

It got worse, and Alicia and Mikey split. Sarah Em happened, and the internet started to hate Mikey as much as Mikey hated Mikey. Sarah Em left when the internet turned on her, and Pete showed up a few weeks later, sans Ashlee and Bronx, with regret in his eyes and a request in his hands.

 

Mikey Way slept with Pete Wentz three months before My Chem officially ended. Not even a month later, Fall Out Boy announced that they were coming back, and Mikey moved in with his brother and Lindsey. He wasn’t better, and he was pretty sure that at least Gerard knew about it. He also knew that Gerard wouldn’t make him do anything, because Gerard and Mikey never made the other brother do anything. It was just encouragement, soft looks and hopeful little smiles, silent requests to maybe one day consider getting help.

 

Lindsey wasn’t Gerard, though. One day, when Mikey couldn’t remember the last time he left the house (at least while the sun was up; he did a lot of things at night that he’d rather not talk about), she opened the door to his bedroom and leaned against the door frame. She crossed her arms over her chest, and jutted her hip out, waiting for Mikey to acknowledge her. Lindsey was magical, Mikey was sure, because there was no one else who could put up with two angsty Way brothers all the time.

 

“I’m not leaving,” she said, after about ten minutes of Mikey staring at the ceiling and Lindsey staring him down from the doorway. “You’re going to have to acknowledge me eventually.”

 

“Why’re you here?”

 

“I live here,” Lindsey said. Before Mikey could come up with a response, she came into the room, leaving the door open and letting the light from the hallway filter in. Lindsey came over and sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Mikey with a curious look on her face. “Get up. I want to show you something.”

 

“If it’s your art, you can always just bring it in here,” Mikey said. “I don’t want Bandit to see me right now. I probably look like shit.”

 

“Bandit’s with Gee,” Lindsey said. She didn’t reach out for Mikey’s arm, even though Mikey knew she was strong enough to pull him up and get him moving. Mikey let out a sigh and sat up, tucking his legs under him and slouching forward so that his hands were on his knees. He cocked an eyebrow at his sister-in-law. She didn’t answer his unasked question, and Mikey wondered if she would have answered it if he spoke it out loud, or if she would have ignored that too. Instead, Lindsey stood up and motioned for Mikey to follow her.

 

Lindsey led him to the garage, where she and Gerard had set up their art studios. They were supposed to have a side of the garage to themselves, but there wasn’t a defined line in the center and so it was more of a gradient from Gerard’s shit to Lindsey’s. On Lindsey’s side, there was a door with a sign saying “Do Not Disturb” in a glittery bright purple font, followed by a miniature doodle of Jimmy making a winking face, and a speech bubble saying “that includes you, jimothy >(“

 

Mikey had always assumed that the door was just a storage closet, and that Lindsey and Gerard didn’t want their friends digging through their art supplies (which made sense, considering that art supplies were expensive, even to people who had a lot of money to spend on them). It turned out that he was wrong, though, because when Lindsey opened the door, Mikey felt like he had walked into a room that was the love child of a Halloween store, Gerard’s drawings from 2004, and one of those authentic voodoo shops in New Orleans.

 

It was kind of cool, if Mikey was being honest with himself. It also had no reason to be in his brother’s house. He turned to Lindsey and asked, “what the fuck?”

 

“I practice witchcraft,” she said simply. Mikey stared at her while trying to telepathically send her a bunch of question marks. She ushered Mikey into the room. “Look, I know you and Gee were raised Catholic and probably still have some ties to it, but sometimes it helps to ask someone who isn’t a total dick. I can leave you alone here, if you’d like, but there are some things you probably shouldn’t mess with.”

 

“What are you expecting me to do, summon a demon and ask him to solve my problems?”

 

Lindsey rolled her eyes. “Witchcraft isn’t about summoning demons. Besides, I keep most of the evil shit in the back of the room. If I were you, I’d stick to just candles and incense--I’ve got a couple of those Saint candles, if you want something closer to home. There’s a list of which colours work best with which entity on the back of the door, too.”

 

“What about those things?” Mikey said, pointing at a shelf covered in weird little knick-knacks, some of which looked like they’d once been a part of something that was alive. Lindsey shook her head. “A lot of those are cursed objects. Some of my friends like to get me weird shit because they think it’s funny and don’t understand how witchcraft works. Like, the monkey’s paw? That’s bad news. It’s like a genie, except the wishes are twisted. The rabbit’s foot is okay, unless you lose it. I haven’t touched it, and I wouldn’t dare touch it.”

 

“Right,” Mikey said. “Did Gerard put you up to this? Putting me in your witchy room?”

 

“No, I just figured you might enjoy the change,” Lindsey said, patting him on the shoulder. “It’s better than sitting around in your room, right?”

 

“It’s a lot…” Mikey almost said creepier, but he’d been in My Chem for way too long to think of any of this as creepy. Odd, yeah, but not creepy. There was hardly anything left in the world that could creep him out at this point. Mikey sighed. “Thanks, Linds. I, uh, I’ll try the whole candle thing.”

 

“Alright,” Lindsey said. She winked at him as she backed out towards the door. “I’ll be back in about an hour. Don’t do anything too crazy in here.”

 

“I won’t,” Mikey said. Lindsey nodded and left, closing the door behind her. She'd left the light on, but it was a green Christmas bulb hanging from the ceiling and it cast everything in an eerie glow. Mikey was sure that Lindsey had used that colour for the aesthetic of the room, and not because she liked working in bad lighting. Unlike Gerard and Mikey, Lindsey was not a former basement dweller and was used to brightly lit areas.

 

Mikey found a box of matches and a few candles, and lit them all along the wall so the he could see the contents of the room better.

 

The pile of cursed objects was caught in the shadows, cast into sharp, almost comic book style angles. Mikey stood in front of them, not touching anything but hovering his hand over the various objects.

 

 _The Monkey’s paw… it’s like a genie._  Mikey could use a genie. It probably wouldn’t matter if the wish ended up twisted, because Mikey’s life was bad enough without a cursed object being involved. It wasn’t like using it could make his situation worse…

 

Mikey grabbed the paw. It was lighter than he expected, when he held it in his hand. He held it for a while, in the flickering shadows of Lindsey’s secret witch closet. Finally, after he’d decided that nothing would happen unless he actually spoke out loud, Mikey bent one of the fingers down and said, “I wish I had never let Pete and Alicia walk away from what we had.”

 

Instantly, all the candles blew out, and Mikey was shrouded in dim green light for about two seconds before everything went dark and he felt like he was being sucked into the ground. He started to let out a scream, but his voice was drowned out by this whooshing noise around his ears. It felt like his head was about to get ripped from his body and explode.

 

\-----------------

 

He must have blacked out, because when he came back, he was in a bed and the curtains were pulled closed. Mikey rolled over onto his side, and the monkey’s paw fell out of his hand and onto the mattress. Mikey stared at it. Had it worked, or had Mikey just passed out and been moved up to his bed?

 

Mikey looked past the bed, to the rest of the room, and answered his own question. This wasn’t the guest room in Gerard’s and Lindsey’s house. This wasn’t his own room, back in the apartment he’d been renting before My Chem broke up and Mikey’s mind went to absolute shit. Mikey had never seen this room before, but it looked like a place where he could live, if he wasn’t living alone. There was even a bass (his bass, the sparkly silver one that he loved) set up in the corner, along with an amp.

 

Mikey sat up, put the monkey’s paw in his back pocket, and got up from the bed. Everything felt off. He needed something to orient himself, to tell him where and when he was.

 

Luckily, whoever owned this room, because Mikey was pretty sure it wasn’t his, had set up a little calendar on the desk. The calendar was half covered with ink and coffee-stained papers, and Mikey immediately thought of Gerard, and how Gerard’s room was always a mess of art and coffee and paper everywhere.

 

The calendar said it was the same day that Mikey had gone down to Lindsey’s witch room. Same year, same day of the week, same everything. When Mikey looked into the mirror on the closet, he looked pretty much the same. His hair had been recently bleached, so he looked more like Kobra Kid than he remembered, but other than that, nothing had changed.

 

The unsettling feeling in Mikey’s stomach hadn’t gone away. If anything, it was getting worse the longer Mikey stood in the center of the room, staring at himself in the window. He shook his head and turned away from the mirror. If Mikey wanted answers, he would have to leave the room and go into the rest of the house. Surely he wasn’t alone here, in this mysterious house with things that reminded him of home.

 

There were two stories in the house. There were three other rooms besides the one Mikey had woken up in, but Mikey didn’t open any of the doors. A part of him was afraid of what would be on the other side, and if it would make him want to take his wish back. He hadn’t even seen Pete yet. He didn’t even know if the paw had worked.

 

Downstairs, he heard someone talking. Mikey was far enough away that he could only hear snippets of the conversation. It wasn’t enough to figure out who was talking, or who they were talking to. Mikey walked towards the person, even though all of his instincts were telling him that approaching a potential stranger in their own house was a bad decision. It was too late. Mikey was already making bad decisions.

 

He turned around the corner to see Pete Wentz--naturally--walking around in a generic suburban kitchen with a baby on his hip and talking into a phone. Mikey stopped in his tracks and just stared at Pete. This was so out of character for Pete, and it really wasn’t helping Mikey’s uneasiness. Mikey knew that Pete had a kid, but he was pretty sure that Bronx was no longer a baby. Unless this was some weird alternate universe where Pete and Ashley hadn’t had a kid until later, and Mikey was their designated babysitter.

 

That would be really unfortunate, seeing as Mikey was still a little in love with Pete.

 

Pete turned around, and grinned when he noticed Mikey. To the person on the phone, he said, “yeah, he just walked in. I’ll tell him you said hey.”

 

He finished talking to whoever it was, and then pocketed his phone before coming over to Mikey and kissing him on the mouth. Mikey kissed back, because he wasn't entirely sure what else to do and he wanted to kiss Pete anyway. Pete pulled back and shifted his hold on the baby so that it was in both of his arms and looking at Mikey with wide mossy green eyes. Mikey's eyes, specifically. Pete smiled. “Hey, babe, I'm glad you're awake again. Alicia called, she said that her thing with PVRIS was going to last a few days longer than expected, so we're on our own for the rest of the week.”

 

“What,” Mikey said. “What the hell is PVRIS?”

 

“You know, the band?” Pete said, raising an eyebrow. “Lynn Gunn’s the front woman and part of the reason I signed her was because she's openly gay? Also because the band sounds good.”

 

Mikey frowned. “Since when are you still signing bands?”

 

“Did you hit your head or something?” Pete asked. He didn't sound angry. He was worried, genuinely worried, and that was throwing Mikey off the most. Pete Wentz didn't worry about people to their faces, at least not the Pete Wentz Mikey knew. Pete reached out with his free hand and gently touched Mikey’s forehead. Pete’s frown deepened. “You don’t feel warm. What’s going on, Mikey?”

 

“I… we’re dating Alicia?” Mikey asked. He wasn’t certain enough about what was going on to phrase it as a statement.

 

Pete nodded, slowly. “We stopped calling it dating a while ago, but yeah, if that’s what you want to call it, sure. We’re also raising two kids, Bronx and Saint, and Bronx and Alicia are in Los Angeles with your brother right now.”

 

“Why aren’t we with her?” Mikey asked. “With them, I mean.”

 

“Because you're working on the next album and I wanted to bring you emotional support for a bit?” Pete said. “There's also the whole selling the Chicago apartment since Fall Out Boy isn't a thing any more and so there's no reason for us to still be living in Chicago. Especially now that Ray and Gerard are both in LA.”

 

“Album…?”

 

“Mikey, seriously, are you sure you're okay? It's like you've forgotten everything about yourself,” Pete said, bouncing the baby on his hip. It was weird, seeing Pete acting like a dad. It was even weirder that the kid was his and Mikey's, and somehow also Alicia's, and that there was another kid with her in Chicago. This was Mikey's life now, apparently. It wasn't what he meant when he wished to have Pete and Alicia back, but it wasn't some horrible twist, so far as he could tell. No one was dead yet.

 

Mikey shook his head. “I'm fine, Pete. I promise. Just, can I call Gerard and Lindsey real quick? I just remembered that I needed to ask them something.”

 

“Yeah, sure. Your phone should still be charging over on the counter. Unless you moved it in which case I don't know where it would be.”

 

Mikey nodded. As he passed Pete, he realised that in this universe it would probably be weird if they didn't kiss. He leaned in and pecked Pete on the lips. Pete looked at him worriedly and mentioned something about putting Saint (the baby, apparently) down for a nap. Mikey nodded and then strode over to the kitchen table, which was covered in baby toys and school supplies. Now that Mikey was paying attention, he realised how many toys and children's books were scattered around. It looked like a family house, and not even a cool, rockstar family house.

 

Mikey picked up his phone. He had every intention of calling Lindsey and asking if she could explain things, but then he saw the little Safari app, and decided to take things into his own hands.

 

He initially searched _Mikey Way_ , but when he only got a bunch of older news stories and fan forums, he added _current_ to his search. He'd start with what he would need to know immediately and work his way back from there.

 

_Mikey Way, Alicia Simmons, and Pete Wentz have been dating since 2005, and are the parents of two children. Mikey Way is the bassist for My Chemical Romance, and has also announced a side project calls Electric Century._

 


	14. Untitled Phan

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the other Phan I wrote and then proceeded to ignore. It's suppposed to be a mix of a Winter Soldier!Dan AU and an old AU/story idea of my own. So once again, I had a weird fucking idea for a fic and went with it until I realised no one was going to read it. Yeah!

I woke up in a laboratory with my arms and legs strapped down to an operating table. There was a gag in my mouth and it tasted like leather socks. It was really fucking disgusting, but it was also terrifying because, _hello_ , mysterious creepy lab table. I knew that I got involved in some sketchy stuff sometimes, but this was way out of my league. It wasn’t even something that one of my dad’s enemies would do, and those guys were actual terrorists.

“The asset has awoken,” a voice said from behind my head. I tried to move my head but I couldn’t see anyone. I could just hear footsteps and clinking glass. “Prep him for the initial experimentation process; we need to make sure that this serum is as effective as everyone claims it to be.”

Serum: I thought as my heart beat faster. They were going to _experiment_ on me? That was more terrifying than any other explanations I had come up with. Whoever these guys were, they were completely _insane_. I’m nothing special; there’s nothing experimental about me, or my family, or my life in general.

A woman in a lab coat appeared over my head with a syringe in her hand. Instinctively, I tried to squirm away. I knew the motion was futile, but there was no way I was going to just sit back and let a bunch of fucking mad scientists stick needles into me!

The woman put her free hand on my forearm, and that was when I finally registered my state of undress. No shirt, no shoes, no hoodie, no socks. Just my boxers and the pair of skinny jeans I’d been wearing last night. Last night when I was out with friends and I got so sick that I had to stagger out the back door and—and then what? My mind was blank. I couldn’t even visualize what the back alley of last night’s club looked like.

“Relax, Mr. Howell,” the lady scientist said calmly. Her voice was so soothing that I almost considered relaxing. But then the leather of the restraint on my wrist brushed my skin, and I remembered what was happening. I shook my head, squeezing my eyes shut, and tried to scream. A low wheezing sound made it past the gag. Typical.

The woman looked unimpressed with my tactics. “Mr. Howell, I assure you that this won’t hurt you very much. In fact, once I inject you with this, you will never have to fear pain ever again.”

Okay. Creepy, ominous words? Check. I was definitely living in some fucked up sci-fi thriller now. Some badass agent needed to get their ass in here and save me, because I did not want to turn in to the bad guy’s hybrid monster thing.

Unfortunately, no BAMF secret agent swooped in to save me, and the lady scientist stuck me with the needle. The serum was injected into my body, and as soon as it started flowing through my body, I could feel it. The sensation was indescribable, but if someone ever took the euphoria out of cocaine, it would probably feel something like this serum thing. I wanted to scream so, so badly, but nothing could get out of my mouth.

My whole body was tensing up, protesting the serum. I felt like my veins were all going to explode and splatter blood everywhere. I tried to scream again, but it didn’t work. I slammed my head against the metal operating table, certain in that moment that a headache would direct all of my pain away from my veins and into my head. Obviously, it didn’t work. Now my head was throbbing and my veins were going to catch fire and basically, I was going to die.

The pain started to die down, and my body started to relax. I crumpled back down onto the freezing cold operating table, panting heavily and feeling incredibly dizzy. My vision was really sharp, though, and I could hear a bunch of machines buzzing. The buzzing freaked me out more than it should have, because I was pretty freaking deaf. Probably from being near too many loudspeakers and always blasting my music at full volume, but either way, I couldn’t hear for shit, and then I could.

“Please hand me the knives,” the doctor lady said. My eyes widened. What the fuck were they going to do with knives? I watched a set of knives get passed over my body, and the scientist looked through them. She chose one with a short smooth blade, and moved it around under the light. After a few seconds, she nodded and said to me, “this shouldn’t hurt for long if the experiment worked correctly. Now, be still.”

And then she drew, with the knife, a single line across my chest. It wasn’t super deep, but blood started welling out as soon as she broke my skin, and it stung like hell. So much for the serum keeping me from feeling pain.

“Nothing’s happening,” one of the other scientists in the room said. The woman held up a finger. “Wait another minute.”

They waited. I continued bleeding, but the pain was going away. I looked down at my chest and made a confused face at what I saw. The cut on my chest was healing itself, the blood drying up and the skin coming back together to leave a thin white scar behind. And the scar was disappearing quickly as well. It looked like the cut had never been there.

The scientist lady nodded her head. “Good, good, right on schedule. I’ll do one more test and then we’ll move on to more modern weapons.”

She turned back to her knife collection, and picked one with a long, sharp blade. She moves the blade over my body, looking for where to stab me. Breathing suddenly got really difficult, and I thought I was going to start having an anxiety attack and hyperventilate.

I didn’t, though. The scientist stabbed my thigh before I could fully freak out. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on the gag. My fists were clenched, and I dug my fingernails into my palm because of the pain.

The scientist didn’t take the knife out. She just stood there, rapping her fingers against the metal table. Her hand was near my head; I could tell because of how loud the noise was. “In approximately two minutes, the knife will start to come back out as the asset’s flesh heals itself. The healing properties of the serum work fast enough that the body can actually remove foreign objects.”

“So if it was shot, it would remove the bullet during the healing process?” one of the people asked. They just called me an _it_! What the actual fuck! I’m a fucking human being, not some shoddy science experiment to be stabbed and shot repeatedly!

“Yes,” the female scientist said. “But I prefer to do the initial test with a knife. That way, if it’s unsuccessful, I will be able to get the weapon back.”

So apparently I was less important than a handful of murder weapons. Not going to lie, I wasn’t at all surprised. Not that many people cared about me as a person. Everyone just wanted me to do something for them, or be someone to them. No one actually wanted me to just be myself. I didn’t even know who “myself” really was, which was depressing, but kind of unimportant in comparison to the situation I was currently in.

There was a crash outside the room, followed by some shouting and a series of gunshots. The scientist’s face became panicked. She shouted at the other people, “Secure the door! Quickly! The asset’s testing can’t be interrupted!”

The other people in the room jumped into action, and the scientist began fussing over me. She was muttering scientific nonsense as she injected another needle into my shoulder and started drawing my blood. There were more gunshots, and when I finally met her eyes, I saw that she was terrified. I narrowed my own in defiance, thinking _suck my dick, I’ve got a James Bond coming for me and they’re gonna take the knife out of my leg and stab you in the face!_

I wasn’t sure why that mental insult was so violent. It was probably because I was in pain and scared out of my mind.

The door slammed open and then the fight was in here. The scientist spun around, throwing her hands into the air. “Please don’t shoot! Please don’t! I’m just a pawn! This wasn’t my idea! I didn’t want to do this!”

There were two gunshots, and then the scientist jerked back and fell onto me. I let out a muffled scream. _Classy, Dan,_ I thought to myself.

I couldn’t see whoever had saved me, but I could hear them as they walked over to the operating table. Their steps were uneven, and they were breathing heavily. I tried to match my breathing to theirs. I closed my eyes, just listening for a moment. Now that all of the scientists were dead, it was quiet, and I could hear my own heartbeat. I was still alive.


	15. Tidbits!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this last chapter is just a collection of tidbits that I found on my laptop! There's no pattern, so enjoy the things that could have been but weren't!

Anonymous said: rywalk star wars au??

Me: knows maybe two (2) things about star wars despite having seen most of the movies

-neither of them are jedis because fuck that I’m an original fucker; Jon’s in the rebellion and has one of those fighter jets and ryan is just a dude whose friends have been kidnapped by the empire/storm troopers and he’s doing whatever it takes to get them back

-this includes but is not limited to attempting to steal a rebel fighter jet because jon left it alone for Two Minutes to go check something out and when he comes back Ryan’s just… in the cockpit and attempting to hotwire a jet. Jon just watches him for a moment before saying “would you like some help with that…….. from an Actual Pilot” and Ryan’s like OH FUCK

-Jon lets ryan explain himself because Ryan’s this tiny little guy in desert gear and he doesn’t even have a rootie tootie point and shootie on him so he can’t be /that/ dangerous and then is like “yeah sure I can help you find your friends and kick some storm trooper ass also here’s a phaser gun you’re going to need it”

-and then they are space gays and get incredibly over powered by the storm trooper because there are like,,, 30 storm troopers and 2 of rywalk but storm troopers can’t aim for shit so they’re fine

-there is probably an “I love you” “I know” moment where Jon is Han Solo and Ryan is leia I don’t know where it would fit in but if I wrote this as an Actual Fic it would definitely happen I am not above that

 

Anonymous said: Petekey, swim instructors

((I thought I answered this earlier but i was Wrong))

-pete and Mikey are both in high school and so they’re junior coaches instead of Actual Coaches which basically means that they’re in charge of the kids under 8 since kids under 8 aren’t really competitive yet and can be trusted with teenagers

-pete’s a lot better with kids because he’s basically a kid himself and also he lets them climb all over him, whereas Mikey is like “how do you child” and even though the kids like him Mikey doesn’t ever know how to handle them/deal with them so he’s constantly handing them off to Pete

-also, bc I’m basing this off of my own personal experience on swim teams, there’s a foosball table and everyone on the team who can play does and there’s this huge tournament and it’s basically the only exciting part of summer league (except for the pizza and spraying the coaches with whipped cream). And pete goes up to Mikey and says “hey wanna be my foosball partner we can kick a bunch of 10 year olds asses” “yeah sure when do we start” “now; I just bet this kid a can of whipped cream that him and his friend couldn’t beat the junior coaches except I forgot he was last years champion”

-Pete and Mikey get creamed by these children because swim team kids are Competitive As Fuck and so then they have to sit and take whipped cream to the face and afterwards pete’s like “hey Mikey lick it off,” not thinking that Mikey will. But Mikey does because hey why not and then pete’s like “oh no I’m gay”

-and then. These fuckers get their shit together and start dating and like all the little kids start calling them their dads and also they get in trouble for making out behind the storage shed after practice but they Don’t Give A Fuck

 

Anonymous said: Rywalk New Years eve

***rubs hands together*** time for some fucking Fluff

-they’re at a party (probably pete’s) and they’re not like Together but there’s something going on between these two fuckers (and everyone Knows)

-Jon’s like “okay ryan likes dramatic romantic gestures I can do dramatic romantic gestures I got this” (Jon I love you but you’ve probably worn jeans and flip flops to a red carpet event you Do Not Got This) and goes to fetch ryan and come up with some Believable excuse to get ryan away from everyone else and into a romantic little corner

-and it’s going okay except Ryan’s not??? anywhere??? and Jon’s literally been searching for like 10 minutes but pete’s house is not /that/ big and no matter who he asks, no one’s seen ryan in a while

-turns out ryan was like “I’m gonna do a Dramatic and pull jon out onto a balcony at midnight so we can make out under the fireworks let me go find him” and has also been searching the entire house for Jon and they’re basically running around in circles searching for each other because pete’s house is Too Fucking Big for this nonsense

-and then the countdown starts and jon finally spots ryan but he doesn’t have enough time to go anywhere so he just,,, grabs the boy and pulls him into his arms and is like “I love you where the fuck did you go happy New Years” and SMOOCH

 

Anonymous said: brallon and “We’re both baristas and sometimes I have trouble reaching for things and I show up to work one day to find a personalized stool with hearts and my name on it i hATE YOU but also thanks” au

This is a v specific AU but I’m gonna do it

-okay so they work at a bar because I’ve done the coffee shop before and I know where it goes, and Brendon’s a college student and Dallon’s a broke musician doing his best but he’s also Hella Crushing on Brendon because look at this cute lil spunky dude who can’t reach anything he’s precious

-so one of Dallon’s previous jobs involved carpentry and he’s like “aha I’ll build my cute coworker a stool so that he doesn’t have to get my attention to reach shit and then he’ll be impressed by my Skillz and be all heart eyes good plan daldo”

-okay yes but also,,, Brendon could reach the top shelf stuff on his own because he is flexible and Determined he’s literally only asking Dallon for help because when Dallon lifts his arms to grab the top shelf drinks his shirt. It rides up and Brendon can see like 2 inches of skin and he’s. So Gay. It’s Bad.

-but then Brendon sees the stool and it’s all personalised and adorable and brendon just Knows Dallon did it because who else would and he just,,, gets more Gay and he keeps blushing and floundering whenever he makes eye contact with Dallon because how the fuck can one guy be so good and pure and basically this fucking stool causes them to pine Hardcore at each other for the rest of the night

-they close up together at like 3 in the morning and Brendon’s like “eh fuck it” and gets on the stool and says “Dallon come here” and Dallon does and is like “what does it not work is it not tall enough DID I FUCK UP OH NO” but Brendon just leans forward and kisses Dallon and is like “thanks you just made kissing a lot easier also wanna go on a date” “hell to the yeah”

 

Anonymous said: frerard, ghosts?

-frank’s a ghost and Gerard is a ghost hunter like the kind on ghost hunters meaning the little shit just comes in with a camera and starts yelling until shit starts moving and then he’s Actually Yelling

-so frank’s just chilling in the place where he died, having a time and haunting like a pro, when this soft looking man with a camera and smudged eyeliner comes in and just starts,,, fucking up Frank’s space like he’s some hooligan teenager coming in on a dare (except Gerard’s obviously older than like 17 and he’s also pretty cute)

-so frank, naturally, pokes a vase and it falls and then Gerard freaks the fuck out because usually that Doesn’t Happen and frank’s like *facepalm* and then does mirror writing and says “dude I’m friendly I was just giving you good footage” “also I like your face”

-at first Gerard is just ????? because ghost don’t flirt with him (people don’t usually flirt with him but that’s irrelevant). It takes Frank a while to convince Gerard that no, this isn’t weird, we can still be Pals even though one of us is dead, it’s fine, but eventually he does and Gerard just starts talking with frank which is nice because frank is used to people coming in just to be like “oohh Haunted Things time to scare my friends lmao” but Gerard is genuine

-Gerard keeps coming back to the house to hang out with frank and keep him updated on the real world and ask for advice on how to find other ghosts

 

lvaghterlines said: Spallon & astronaut AU!

-it’s like the Martian except they’re both stuck on mars… somehow (I know -3 science facts) and so they’re setting up a tiny little mars farm and complaining about potatoes together

-Dallon keeps hoarding the ketchup in his bunk and Spencer would be pissed except he doesn’t actually like ketchup and he’s only stealing it back from Dallon because he likes the pouty face Dallon makes whenever he realises Spencer has all of his ketchup (again)

-even though they’re out in space they still go star gazing at night (when it’s not super stormy and they don’t have to worry about dying) and they make up new stories about the constellations even though they know what they really are/mean

-Spencer keeps a better log than Dallon and spent about a week or so venting to the camera about how unfair it was that he got stuck alone on a planet with a cute guy and he can’t even fucking shower because they’re in SPACE

-when Dallon finds Spencer’s videos they’ve already been together for a bit and he teases Spencer about it relentlessly and then promises not to share those videos with anyone if they even get rescued (they do)

 

whoremouthiero said: FRIKEY VAMPIRE AU!!!!

((Mikey’s a vampire in this because Mikey would make a great vampire))

-frank being that one goth college kid who works at hot topic and 100% acts like it’s 2006 and shits on twilight any chance he gets, so when he finds out that Mikey (who also works at hot topic because Mikey enjoys irony in his life) is a Real Life Vampire he basically nuts

-Mikey finding frank adorable but would never drink frank’s blood because “dude you’ve got so many illnesses it’d be like drinking spoiled milk” “I’m lactose intolerant Mikey” “spoiled soy milk, whatever”

-frank continuously trying to get Mikey to act like a stereotypical vampire because the only vampire-y things he does is 1) wear sunglasses all the fucking time, 2) never go outside unless he’s entirely covered, and 3) has a thermos of blood that he just,,, keeps in the employee kitchen area and no one questions it

-Mikey takes frank out on a date to a local graveyard even though Mikey doesn’t hang out in graveyards (his older brother, gee, does but gee’s a stereotypical fuck and Mikey tries not to be so obvious) and they keep tripping over graves because they’re not paying attention

-frank adamantly making sure that Mikey’s not one of those vegetarian vampires because “Mikey, you can’t just drink from cows, they have feelings too” “people have more feelings frank” “yeah well fuck people” “wow edgelord” “I’m not a fucking vampire”

 

* * *

 

**Kinky Brallencer Concepts**

-Au where Brendon starts a fight club not to fight but so that he can get punched without question

-brallencer europe vacation au where they go to amsterdam based on that one photo

-Spencer has this one really nice whip that's really sharp and stings a lot and sometimes when Brendon's been good Spencer lets him choose what toys he'll get and he always chooses that one because it hurts the most and leaves him covered in marks

-brendon has a scarifcation/marking kink and usually that freaks his partners out but dal and spence are down for it because they get to see him all marked up nearly every night their on tour

                -they make sure not to mark him anywhere too obvious, but when they're not touring... Anything Is Possible

-spencer, using brendon as a drum pad: i love you

-spencer: brendon your boner for dallon is getting ridiculous

                -brendon: *literally grinding on dal* i have no idea what you're talking about

-also brendon totally has a thing for wearing his collar in public/getting bruises and hickeys in visible areas so that everyone can see them

-spencer: enters the room

                -brendon: sticks his ass in the air

-brendon's only a bossy bottom when spencer isn't there because he knows he can get away with it with dallon

-"brendon its dangerous" "dallon. spit in my ass and let me ride your dick" "careful there brendon youre starting to sound like spencer"

-he would take them [dicks] all if he could probably

-he also enjoys being spitroasted

-dallon is 100% a switch but brendon is the Most Sub and spencer is a dom

-dallon is a switch i dont make the rules

                -also brendon is a needy fuck and dallon is a Good Boy

                -dallon: sassy fuck

                 dallon in bed: Yes Master

-spencer is also a Bossy Boy but dallon and brendon are more than willing to do what they're told when spencer's the one telling them to do things

-i haven't written this part yet but Brendon Is Getting A Collar

                -[coffeeshop au]

-AU where there are movies where the dog lives so that brendon can enjoy the movie for once

-brendon is wearing only the collar as he is doggo and needs no clothes

                -Doggo is Neked and Free

-look i'm seriously considering a spallon/brallencer (because i love both but idk which to go with) time travel/switch au where too weird/vices!spence and baby fever!spence switch timelines for a sec and v!spence wakes up in 2006 brobecks!dallon's bed and bb!dallon is just ??? you're pretty but who the fuck??? and bb!spence is just trailing around v!dallon/brendon and being his tiny sassball self

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for putting up with me for 1 million words. Maybe I'll still be on this account whenever I hit 2 million, we'll see. 
> 
> -Jeff :P


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